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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24275041">The Detersive Divulge</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki'>Tsume_Yuki</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Rigel Black Chronicles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Harriet Potter | Rigel Black - Freeform, Identity Reveal, Inspired by The Rigel Black Chronicles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:29:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>100,427</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24275041</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The ruse is up and Harriet Potter has managed to escape without her name associated to Rigel Black. However, with more people than just Snape hunting down the pureblood pretender, it is going to take a great deal of work for that to remain the status quo.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter &amp; Arcturus Rigel Black, Harry Potter &amp; Lionel Hurst, Harry Potter &amp; Severus Snape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>222</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Rigel Black Chronicles Appreciation</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/622546">The Pureblood Pretense</a> by Murkybluematter.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>‘Deception of the century’</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>‘Arcturus Black - a life undercover’</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>‘Mockery made of Triwizard Tournament’</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>‘Rigel Black - the Half Blood Pretender’</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>‘SOW party shaken and stirred’</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>‘Rigel Black - where is he now?’</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Placing the papers down on her low coffee table, Harriet Potter exhaled, long, low and sharp. </p><p>It’d been a miracle she’d gotten out of there at all without revealing her identity- no. It’d been a miracle she’d gotten out without having her mask ripped free. She’s still not quite sure just how she managed it (something to investigate later, once this has all died down, no matter how much she burns with the need to do so, to uncover just what exciting new twist her magic has undertaken this time). It doesn’t matter though.</p><p>She won the Triwizard Tournament, as promised. That means Riddle will have to come through with his end of the bargain. And, while the loss of Rigel (the loss of Hogwarts, her friends, her life) hits hard... it does mean that she can remove herself from Riddle’s plays, if only for a time.</p><p>Already Archie has been cornered and interrogated. With the sealing curse sealing his lips, no one had been able to push him further, hadn’t been able to uncover the truth from that venue. He’s safe anyway, it’s not like he can get more than a slap on the wrist for his impersonation of a half-blood. Neither has Harriet Potter done anything wrong; studying from a small apartment in the Lower Alleys will certainly be frowned upon, but it is by no means illegal. She’s been careful of that, methodically calculated it to ensure her safety. </p><p>It still doesn’t soften the blow that the ruse is up. </p><p>She exhales again, sleeve held between fingers as she dabs at the corners of her eyes, soaking up the moisture. Tears won’t help. She needs to plan, needs to check everything over and make sure it’s all accounted for. </p><p>All Archie had been able to give away to his interrogators was that Rigel Black was a half-blood who’d been desperate to study at Hogwarts. That’s it. There’s nothing in there specifically that can be linked back to her, but she doesn’t doubt some will draw further conclusions. It cannot be deduced that she was there to study under Dumbledore; he so rarely took on apprentices that such a thing wouldn’t cross the mind of even the most whimsical eleven-year-old child. That left the professors in their specialist fields. Planning for the worst; some of the brighter minds will cross reference against other schools and deduce that it’s most like she’s there for Transfigurations under McGonagall or potions under Professor Snape. And Rigel Black, with his shining aptitude for potions, would clearly favour one of those over the other. From there, it won’t be long until they begin searching for children with an interest and, yes, she will say it, a talent for potions. </p><p>This is where she is relying upon Leo. Leo who had promised to help her scaffold her ruse of living in the Lower Alleys as Harry Potter. People will claim her apartment lived in and, though James will undoubtedly be quite upset with her, that’ll secure her alibi. </p><p>True, there are still loose ends, each only half tied up. Will, Ollivander... Draco and Pansy.</p><p>That’s the one that hits the hardest. Four years of cultivating those friendships, even when she tried holding herself back at the beginning. She can only imagine how betrayed they must feel, how they would be reviewing every conversation they’d ever had. She wonders just how much will make sense to them as they look back upon their interactions. Every time blood purity had come up, there she’d been, conversing as if an equal but a halfblood. She- she owes them a slip of an explanation, that much is for sure. Yet, how to do it? She doesn’t doubt Riddle; any letter could be traced to an extent, if one had the motivation and the willpower. And, given the mockery she’s made of his tournament (of his own movement, of the SOW party) he’ll have both in spades. </p><p>Merlin, she wonders if there’s anyone else out there who knows Riddle can talk to snakes. There must be somebody; how long will it take for that one specific person to ask if Rigel Black is actually Riddle’s illegitimate son? The thought alone is horrifying. But the satisfaction of how much the SOW leader must be juggling right now to reclaim the confidence of his party members is almost enough to put a smile on her face. Almost. </p><p>Then, she considers the political turmoil she has created, a great landslide prompted into existence by her pebble of duplicity. The guilt she feels for deceiving her friends is a heavy enough burden as is. She dare not think on their expressions, the betrayal that will cut deeper than any sensation she has ever caused within them before. A hidden knife slipped between the ribs from a trusted source...</p><p>She owes them a single letter. One untraceable account. Her sole confession of the sins she has committed, unrepentant in all but the hurt she has caused them. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Time passes, as it’s wont to do. James doesn’t chew her out. Instead, he goes eerily silent, seemingly incapable of looking at her and Harry knows that the trust between them is gone, crumbling from existence in the very same way Rigel Black has. And while Archie admits to the strain their deception has placed upon his relationship with Sirius, they, in the least, are still talking to one another. </p><p>She gets grounded. No surprises about that, she had even prepared for it. A letter to Leo, informing him of the very high chances that she would soon be under house arrest and, most distressingly, unable to brew. He would pass her message on to the rest of the Court, she’s sure. </p><p>He’ll also see to it that her letter makes it to Draco and Pansy. Passing through so many in the Lower Alleys like a twisted game of pass the parcel until it makes its way back to Leo, coated in so much ambivalent magic from all those it has been in contact with that Rigel’s only essence will have disappeared. </p><p> </p><p>It’s the least she can do. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>-0</p><p> </p><p>[SsSsSs]</p><p> </p><p>-0</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>There have been far and few times in his life where Severus Snape did not know what to do, who to turn to. There had always been a plan, a way to strive forwards towards the goal. Setbacks had, of course, presented themselves but he had always been able to continue his steady march towards his destination. </p><p>Until recently, one of those goals had been taking Rigel Black and moulding him into the greatest potion master to have ever lived. And now-</p><p>Vanished. Gone like smoke in the wind and with not a carbon molecule to chase. </p><p>Sitting within Lucius’ private office, he stews. The master of the house sits beside him, on tent hooks for a multitude of reasons. One of the prominent ones being Lord Riddle, who has already blasted one hole in the wall and it is certain that one act will not stem the reservoir of fury that pours out of him. Their Lord stalks back and forth, more alike a caged nundu than his usual serpent. Not that Severus could blame him in the slightest.</p><p>The most promising child he has ever seen within a decade of teaching, the shining beacon of a new era. Gone. And a half-blood to boot. </p><p>He’s certain that Rigel (it doesn’t matter what the boy’s true name is, Rigel is how he has known him and until he uncovers the truth, which he will, then it is Rigel he shall remain) is a halfblood. No muggleborn child would have the ability, the resources to concoct this deception. There would have been no reason for the deceit if he were a pureblood either; surely with how exceptional the boy is, he’d have been able to secure a scholarship were he from a family lacking substantial funds.</p><p>No, the boy they had known as Rigel Black is a halfblood. Curing the sleeping sickness, slaying a basilisk, winning the Triwizard Tournament; all the work of perhaps the bravest, most foolish halfblood to have ever walked the halls of Hogwarts. It’s almost unthinkable but it can be nothing more than the truth.</p><p>The vase that has resided by the northern window for as long as Severus has known Lucius explodes in a shower of porcelain, Lord Riddle’s magic roaring through the room as surely as a sandstorm tears through the desert plains. Not a word has been spoken between them since Lucius approached their Lord with the letter Draco had received that very morning, four weeks post the… discovery. Near a month has passed by and still the imbecilic media have continued to fixate on the spectacle. Already, Dumbledore’s party are gearing up to use this stellar evidence as proof that Hogwarts should no longer remain a pureblood-only institution. It’s the kind of momentum that may even get the laws repealed.</p><p>Not that such a thing will bring Rigel back. The boy would be arrested on sight for his transgressions, least of which are lying to everyone who thought they had known him. Of all the foolish, anserine ideas-</p><p>“Can you trace him.” Lord Riddle doesn’t ask, but the way his eyes burn into and through Severus make it abundantly clear that the answer to that order better be a positive one. </p><p>Lucius hands him the letter and the slight tremble to his hand is near unnoticeable. It doesn’t come as a shock that his friend is… spiralling with this sudden turn of events. Rigel has made off with no small amount of Malfoy family secrets, including a list of the Heir’s allergens, the knowledge of Draco’s empathetic ability and… and the life debt. By Merlin, the life debt. And it’s by far not the only one that Rigel can lay claim to. Just when he believes he has finally grasped the enormity of the situation they find themselves in, he remembers another utterly phenomenal thing that Rigel has done and the repercussions of it.</p><p>There is a child out there with an unaccountably deep understanding of the magical cores belonging to the Heirs of some wizarding Britain’s most prominent families. </p><p>There is a child out there who seemingly rewrites all the laws of magic that he designs to pay attention to, with lord levels of power to back him up.  </p><p>It is most likely the only thing backing him up. </p><p>Unfolding the parchment (cheap, mass produced, not the premium kind that can be traced to a specialist creator like most purebloods use), Severus allows his eyes to run over the familiar handwriting, absorbing the words.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Dear Draco and Pansy,</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I would beg your forgiveness for being so plebeian as to address the both of you within the same letter, but it is by far my lesser transgression at present. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>There are no words that shall ever be able to capture the potent regret that currently plagues me nor, I doubt, actions that shall ever lessen my guilt. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am not a pureblood. I am not Heir Arcturus Rigel Black, though I do not doubt you are already aware of these truths. You once stated that I had secrets; this is, by far, one of my biggest, for all that it is now known. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I agreed to this duplicity for the sake of my education, to acquire that which is barred to me, someone of less than pureblood. You will recall that I attempted to keep you at arm’s length during our first semester, something you proved impossible to replicate in the long run.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I do not regret becoming friends, though it made my deception significantly harder to uphold. My only lament is the pain that my circumstances have now caused you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I understand that the relationship we have was built upon false pretences; nonetheless, you will remain the greatest friends I will ever have the pleasure of knowing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Even as it cuts sharper than the winter’s wind, I‘m writing to inform you that this shall be my last letter to you, especially given how unwelcome I predict it shall be. I sincerely hope you never hear from me again, as the only reason I would dare to contact you was if I were to be caught. This would be the only reason I should ever call upon the debt owed to me: for assistance I’m not being prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>As you well know, I am excellent at disappearing when I wish to, do rest assured that your debt will forever remain unfulfilled, Draco. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Pansy, with your celestial grace, I do not doubt you will succeed within life, but please keep an eye out for Draco now that I can no longer do so. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please never doubt that our friendship has been the greatest experience of my time at Hogwarts.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Regretfully,</em>
</p><p><em>Rigel</em>’</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It’s nowhere near his usual prose but the emotional distress of his usually removed student is all but screamed through the words and the less than stellar sentence choices. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn Rigel had written a first draft and been unable to bring himself to editing it.</p><p>Drawing his wand, Severus traces it across the parchment, over the long-dried ink, along each word.</p><p>There’s not a hint of Rigel’s magic on the letter. Instead, there is a patchwork quilt of energy interwoven across its surface, absorbed from the many, many hands it must have passed through. It will be impossible to separate enough of Rigel’s magic away from the rest; it’s too tainted. The only path forwards is to trace the most recent hands to have held the letter and work back through what is sure to be a long slog of ignorant reprobates, with whom the chances of them understanding even a mote of what has occurred and their own place within it is sure to be distressingly low.</p><p>“Severus.” Lord Riddle’s voice verges dangerously close to the incomprehensible tones of Parseltongue and that’s one more thing to add to the list; Rigel is a Parselmouth something… something that is genetically inherited.</p><p>The thought flashes across his mind, a fork of lightning in the dark and Severus muffles everything but the thunder can come and he does something unbelievably stupid, such as voice his sudden suspicion.</p><p>It’d certainly add weight to Rigel’s dislike of Lord Riddle.</p><p>“It will take some time and I cannot give you any reassurances it will work. Rigel, as we have all seen, is an extraordinarily capable young man and has every reason to remove himself entirely from society.” The chances of finding the child are astronomically low.</p><p>Severus has faced such odds before and triumphed; he has every intention of doing so again. What he will do upon finding the boy, however, is something he has not (cannot) considered. Not yet.</p><p>“You truly had no idea, Severus?”</p><p>Severus levels his best glare at Lucius, feeling his magic snap beneath the levels of control, beneath the occlumency that shields and organises his mind.</p><p>“I’m quite certain I do not need to express how monumentally stupid it would be, knowing full well the goals that the S.O.W Party strives for, to champion a disguised halfblood and undermine everything I have contributed to the cause.” He’s aware is tone is near glacial but Severus does not wish to open this up for discussion. He prides himself on his observational skills, on his ability to analyse everything around him and suss out the truth.</p><p>He had not found Rigel’s deception until the mask was already gone, stripped away by a potion designed to test the purity of the person presented to it. Not the blood, but the person. And that was after the… mess that came before it. Besides, it’s not as if he was the only one unaware of the dissimulation.</p><p>Lord Riddle never suspected either.</p><p>As is sensing what has just passed through Severus’ mind, their Lord turns on his heels and stalks to the entryway. The oak doors blast open despite a lack of direction from a wand and Lord Riddle disappears down the corridor. Undoubtedly off to do as much damage control as one can manage in these… extraordinary circumstances.</p><p>He himself is in no mood for the usual pleasantries but, unlike Lord Riddle, Severus does not have the standing to just depart from Lucius’ presence without a word. It is with this in mind that he turns to the Malfoy Lord and offers a shallow dip of his head. “I shall be in touch should I make any progress.” The unspoken ‘return this curtesy, now is not the time for us to be working against one another’ lingers in the air between them until Lucius nods in return.</p><p>“Have a fruitful hunt, Severus.”</p><p>Yes, one could only hope.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>-0</p><p> </p><p>[HpHpHp]</p><p> </p><p>-0</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I was never contacted by Rigel, nor did I ever contact him. Any correspondence between the two of us was passed through Archie. That’s why he got sealed.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It’s been five weeks since the end of the Triwizard Tournament and finally, <em>finally</em>, her house arrest has been lifted. After the third discussion with the aurors that is. Five weeks and no one has come knocking with the proclamation that she is Rigel Black.</p><p>From what James has muttered up to table (not to her, but in her vicinity), the aurors seem to be certain they’re still chasing a boy. The first layer of the ruse may have been stripped away, but there’s still multiple failsafes; a handful of people in the Lower Alleys have said that a ‘Harry’ does live there, that they’ve seen said Harry out and about. Harry lives at Number 8 Dogwood Lane where, unknown to her parents, she has been completing home-schooling packets so that her dear cousin may attend AIM in her place.</p><p>She had come dangerously close to admitting her brewing for Krait, to allowing another secret to be uncovered so that the aurors may think they have scraped the bottom of the barrel of what she knows. But, in the end, she hadn’t been able to do it. The Lower Alleys had been a safe haven from the manic life she had begun living; she just hadn’t been able to throw them under the Knight Bus just to save her own skin. Instead, she’d put Rispah’s lessons to the test, contorting her face to convey all the appropriate emotions to indicate ‘yes, I have learnt my lesson’, ‘no, I have no idea where Rigel is, he never told me anything other than he’d disappear if there was ever a chance he’d get caught’ and, ‘yes, he only ever told Archie enough to keep up the ruse they had going’.</p><p>Those had been the last few answers she’d given before the Auror had left.</p><p>It has been five weeks and she has little idea of what is going on in the outside world. Of course, she has been reading the newspapers and Archie’s letters, but there’s only so much one can plan for when they have a limited influx of information. Especially given that the majority of ‘news’ was, in fact, reporters pondering over just what they know of Rigel and what they can deduce. Hardly a riveting read, given she knew all the answers. Still, she could see how close they were getting to the second layer of her deception (so far away it is almost laughable; the aurors seem to be under the belief that Rigel is a poor, male halfblood from the continent) along with the opinions of… well, almost everyone.</p><p>Dumbledore has already put out a statement of support which, well, it’s actually quite touching in a strange sort of way. She has, after all, been his personal student for two years and to know she has made such an impression on the man that he would come out to defend her actions is… it’s something worthy of note, that’s for sure. But it cannot be discounted that her actions will have swung the ideals of magic is might into Dumbledore’s camp. A halfblood child curing the sleeping sickness, slaying a basilisk, winning the Triwizard Tournament-</p><p>‘<em>And that is without mentioning the things you have done that they have no knowledge of,</em>’ Dom whispers from the recesses of her mind and Harry nods in agreement. Yes, there’s that as well.</p><p>Perhaps… maybe not next year, but the year after? Maybe, just maybe, Harry could attend Hogwarts for her NEWTS as herself if Dumbledore managed to run away with this momentum she’s unintentionally inspired.</p><p>No. No, she couldn’t risk it. There’d be too many eyes watching her, examining her for the part she’d played, however small they perceived it to be, in the ruse. She’d be too close to her friends, to Professor Snape, to pass unseen. One of them would put the pieces together and it would all be over. She cannot chance it, no matter how the thought bites her at.</p><p>“Here are all your other letters, Harry,” Lily whispers, trying for a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Neither of her parents seem to know quite what to do other than enforce their first, instinctually given punishment. They feel guilty, Harry understands that much. Guilty that they hadn’t been aware who they’d assumed to be Harry was actually Archie, guilty that they hadn’t noticed their only daughter was living out of an apartment in the Lower Alleys, of all places. A place that James had raided himself.</p><p>“Thanks, Mum,” Harry murmurs, accepting the pile. It’s surprisingly substantial and she can tell with the slightest prod of her magic that they’ve been tampered with. Archie’s already let her know the aurors were checking his mail for anything from Rigel, so it’s safe to say that’s the very reason as to why her own letters have apparently been opened and resealed.</p><p>Offering Lily a small smile, Harry takes a seat at the table and sets to work.</p><p>There are a few from her friends at Hogwarts, though they are all addressed to Heiress Harriet Potter, enquiring as to the whereabouts of Rigel and if she truly knew as little as what is stated in the papers. The Weasley twins are particularly potent in their pleading.</p><p>There isn’t one from Pansy. Nor from Draco.</p><p>‘They don’t own me anything,’ Harry forcibly reminds herself, pushing it down and away. She’d sent her final letter. All their ties to Rigel had been cut now, barring the Life Debt she can still lay claim to. Even then, Harry isn’t certain she will use it, not until she’s exhausted every other avenue possible. To call upon the aid of people whose lives she has saved in order to try and save herself from a long-term prison sentence doesn’t sit right with her.</p><p>Read Leo’s letters already, grateful that he’d understood the momentous importance of her secret keeping and that he has not implicated himself (or her any further) through the content of his letters.</p><p>There is, surprisingly, one from Lestrange.</p><p>She does want to read it, to hear his honest opinion on the events that have occurred while he has been out of the country. But she needs to see Leo, to tie up that loose end now that she’s finally free.</p><p>Slipping the letter into her pocket and silently asking her magic to ensure it doesn’t slip out.</p><p>When she gets to the fireplace, she tries to ignore the large board titled ‘Where Harry is going’ that appears to have materialised overnight, but she cannot access the floo powder until she writes ‘Diagon Alley &amp; Lower Alleys’ onto it. A tricky piece of spellwork she doesn’t want to spend the next few hours unravelling. Not when seeing Leo is a priority.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The path to the Lower Alleys is as familiar as the path through Diagon itself now. Harry walks with sure steps, her trusted boots devouring the stretch of cobblestone between her and her destination. She catches the eyes of two children dangerously close to the age of Hogwarts admittance, both of whom smile at her and scamper off. Leo’s eyes, she doesn’t doubt the thought of seeing him again flows through her, stoking both a dulled excitement and a nervous worry. He will have questions, of that, she’s sure. He’s met Archie before and now, with the first layer of the ruse unmasked, he’ll have questions. Worse, her friend will be well aware this isn’t just the only secret to expose. There are exceptionally few people who will be aware she hasn’t actually been living at Dogwood and, unfortunately, Leo is the key contender at the top of that list.</p><p>He’s seen her apartment before it was empty. He’s aware she hasn’t been renting that apartment since she supposedly began her home-schooling and, given that it’s been reported that Archie has been at AIM for his entire academic career so far, then Leo will be well aware Harry couldn’t have been in America herself. She needs to assess what he knows first, even as a multitude of plans circulate in her brain. It will not be so farfetched as to have Leo believe she only began working for Krait when she ran out of pre-saved money. As for where said money was coming from, well, neither she or Archie have families hurting for cash. She can claim it savings that had steadily been depleted.</p><p>It does not solve her issue of the apartment not belonging to her for the duration of her first year. Informing the aurors that she was hotel hopping for that time might work, but not with Leo. No matter how useful she can imagine it is, the Rogue having eyes everywhere is only hindering her in this moment, that’s for sure.</p><p>Gritting her teeth, Harry continues her march, head still spinning with thoughts and plans, each discarded as quickly as the one before it. She needs Leo on side. The chances of the aurors thinking to question the people in the Lower Alleys is quite high, but they’d protect her. Harry is one of them and the people here look after their own (perhaps that is why she likes it so much here). But… they will report to Leo. Leo, who will want to know why the Aurors are poking around Harry’s apartment, if he doesn’t already know about the whole Rigel situation. Leo, who has enough pieces of the puzzle to realise that it isn’t a simple picture, rather a grand design and there are pieces from what he’d assumed was another that fit into it. Merlin, that was a terrible metaphor; she can usually do better than that.</p><p>Her magic zings in warning just before Leo’s arm comes down over her shoulders, right outside the entrance to Knockturn Alley.</p><p>“Harry! It’s great to see you after five weeks apart!” He’s loud, drawing attention and quick glances from everyone nearby.</p><p>“It’s only been five weeks,” Harry throws out, sliding easily into the conversation. The more people who hear this, the more people will believe she genuinely has been staying in the Lower Alleys. A blatant friendship with someone who runs around in that very area will only cement it.</p><p>“Five weeks is a long time, Lass,” Leo says with a grin, all light-hearted teasing and she doesn’t buy it for a second. She’s not the only one who has spent time with Rispah. “An even longer time waiting for this modified Polyjuice of yours to wear off it seems.” Ah.</p><p>“Heard about that, have you?” That’d been one of the things she’d had to explain to the aurors; how they’d hidden it, before Archie discovered his metamorphmagi talents. Only, the official story was she’d combined her hair with Archie’s and then she, Archie and Rigel had all drunk the mixture. Professor Snape’s account of the quidditch match back in Third Year would only cement that detail further, though she had claimed credit for the potion as one of Harriet Potter’s. She’d had to hand the recipe over to the guide to be analysed, though she had done that by letter. The last thing she needed was another rehash of the same old lecture of trying experimental potions that haven’t been certified as safe for human consumption.</p><p>From the look on Leo’s face, he knows about this part of the whole charade as well.</p><p>“It threw the Potion’s Guild into uproar, of course. Dad, obviously, was very impressed, though equally as startled to learn you were testing this on yourself. I’m sure you can guess exactly how I feel about that too.” Leo probably disagrees with the idea. She’s slowly coming around to the fact that her friends value her personal safety above the need for an intended outcome. Not that Harry would ever consume a potion that she wasn’t one hundred percent certain would have no adverse effects upon her body.</p><p>Not… not unless she was under extreme duress and it was a matter of survival if not.</p><p>But Leo doesn’t know about that particular incident and she has no intention of telling him either.</p><p>“When will it wear off?”</p><p>“Any day now,” Harry admits after only a moment of hesitation. That… that is another thing to content with. She’ll look physically older than she should be because of the time she’d folded in her third year. She’ll be sixteen? Seventeen? Certainly, a year ahead of where she should be, in the very least. Creating the antonym to an aging potion and then lengthening its effects through amber is theoretically possible but… she doesn’t want to lie. If she does that, she’ll be committing to a potion regime until she’s old enough that an additional year won’t make a difference. No one has actually seen her real face in years. The shock of it will surely detract from the fact she looks a little older than she should be. If she doesn’t do it, people may get suspicious. But, if people found out she was taking potions to make herself look younger, that would be infinitely more suspicious than her true appearance being a bit more mature than would be expected of someone her age.</p><p>“I look forwards to it.”</p><p>“I- what? What’s that supposed to mean?” But Leo doesn’t answer her, just smiling and continuing to hustle her down the winding streets into the Lower Alleys.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They arrive at her apartment with little fanfare and Leo turns bright, mischievous eyes on her.</p><p>“You wanted to learn how to scale a building, right?” The question instantly has Harry on guard. Leo is well aware there’s more to her deception that what has been reported in the papers and there’s no doubt that he knows she knows. Ergo, he’s trying to distract her for some reason. To what end, she doesn’t know.</p><p>After five weeks in the house, unable to brew and forced to prove that, yes, she does actually have an education despite essentially home-schooling herself, it would be nice to proclaim she could indeed crawl up walls instead of just feeling like she can. </p><p>It doesn’t change the fact Leo is trying to distract her. That, or lull her into a false sense of ease. Regardless of his intentions, she still needs to speak with him. </p><p>She has no choice but to go along with his ploys. </p><p>“Yes, it seems like a useful skill. I still own you a break in from an overly nosey friend after all; just jog my memory, where is it you said your apartment was again?” she asks with faux innocence, widening her eyes just enough to affect a smooth, imploring expression as she glances up at her tall friend from beneath her lashes. There’s a moment where he stares, seemingly transfixed. Then, Leo looks away, muttering something about Rishap under his breath as he runs a hand though his hair. </p><p>“I didn’t say anything, you scallywag.” </p><p>“Mmm, one would think you don’t want concerned friends to visit if you go missing for a few days.”</p><p>At that, Leo turns his attentions back on her, a smile slowly rolling across his face as easily as clouds cross the sky. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind a visit from you, Harry, but I think you’re still a bit too young to be sneaking into bedrooms yet.” </p><p>That does have Harry snorting. What would she ever need to sneak into Leo’s bedroom for? Getting into his living room or even the kitchen would be far more favourable; she could take a seat and read while she waits for him to come back, proceeding the scare the life out of him as he had once done her. Besides, if she were so inclined, she could refute Leo’s claim about her age too. She’s a year old than she should be, after all. </p><p>“Just show me how to climb the wall, Leo.” </p><p>Her friend holds both hands up, surrendering the conversation. Then, he reached for his pocket and pulls out... a block of chalk?</p><p>“It’s good for your grip. Especially for a beginner.” Magnesium carbonate, if she had to take a guess. It makes a good supplement to blood replenishers. Undoubtedly, it’s also be good for soaking up excess moisture. In climbing where grip is one of the key components between the climber and a quick drop, sudden stop, dry hands would be invaluable. </p><p>The implications that come from Leo walking around with that in his pocket...</p><p>“Break into a lot of homes, do you?” Harry asks, accepting the block and dusting up her hands until the skin feels dry enough to indicate the excess moisture has been removed. </p><p>“Never know when some kid might be living alone with no one to look out for them and wary of answering their front door,” Leo responds, pocketing the chalk once again as he approaches the side of the building. “It’s good to learn how to do things the none magical way too. Never know when a skill will come in handy.” That piece of advice is one she doesn’t doubt. </p><p>“Look for the bits of brick that stick out, any ledges that you can get a proper grasp on. And always keep your weight on your feet unless it’s unavoidable; they’re used to holding you up.” Leo offers her a wink, working his way up the wall before she can form an answer. He’s quick and makes it look easy. Intellectually, she knows she won’t be in for an easy time, knows that this is a learned skill, much as free-duelling is.</p><p>She knows she could make it that much easier if she allowed her magic to help. But what would be the point in learning if she were to rely upon her magic for everything? There may one day come a time when she doesn’t have access to her magic and this would prove an invaluable skill.</p><p>“Don’t worry about slipping,” Leo calls down from where he’s sitting on her windowsill, one leg drawn up so that he can rest his forearm up it, jauntily bouncing the hand that holds his wand. “I’ll catch you if you fall.” Another wink. Were she not truly aware the gravity of the conversation they were about to have, were she one of the handful of people on the street watching this, she probably would assume this is nothing more than comradely banter between friends.</p><p>Just for that, she’s going to complete the climb on her first try.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It is three minutes later that Harry pulls herself into her own apartment, arms burning but not unpleasantly. It’s as if she completed a few dozen push-ups alongside Remus’ usual workout routine for her. Challenging, but not impossible.</p><p>She rolls her shoulders as she straightens, not missing the fact Leo has already made himself at home, two cups of tea placed upon the small table he’d provided her with. While Leo-</p><p>Leo is right in front of her, looking down with those bright hazel eyes that are so very familiar after years of, well, friendship.</p><p>“Five months,” he huffs and Harry opens her mouth to object, but the breath is stolen from her lungs when he pulls her into a tight hug, arms tucking her into his chest and resting across the stretch of her shoulder blades. Harry stands still for a moment, her arms hanging uselessly by her sides before she remembers where she is, who this is, and then she returns the gesture without hesitation.</p><p>He’s still taller than her. Probably will be forever, even if she gains an inch or two when the Polyjuice finally wears off. At least he appears to have stopped growing so that head of his won’t be getting any further away from her.</p><p>“What are you thinking, Lass?”</p><p>“I’m comparing your brain to one of those muggle contraptions that rise with hot air.” She knew the basics, had tried to recreate the effect one summer’s afternoon with Archie when they had been a tender seven-years-old. The potion she had picked to create the hot air had been harmless; it was only that their cotton hadn’t been woven tightly enough that’d stopped them from flying away that evening. James and Sirius had chuckled over their foiled escape attempt once she’d recounted the tale back to them over dinner later that night, se recalls.</p><p>“A hot air balloon?” Leo asks but, before she question his knowledge of the subject, her friend shakes his head and points over to the kitchen table. The casual camaraderie is gone now, replaced with the Leo she sees oh so rarely. This is the King of the Lower Alleys now, for all that he is indeed her friend underneath it. They share the same ever-tanned skin, though the laughing hazel eyes have lost their good humour.</p><p>“Harry. Say you have a friend that you are well aware has some secrets. Big, dangerous secrets, by their own admission.” Leo pauses here, meeting her gaze and Harry nods slowly, waiting for the trap to snap shut. She can see the glinting silver claws, can see the bait (though there is no reason for her not to drink the tea now; it had been Leo’s good-natured front that had drawn her here, along with the acknowledgement that she needs to secure this loose end). Yes, the trap is there. She’s just waiting for it to snap shut now.</p><p>“Now, picture some big secret they were involved in came out. The whole world knows about it but your friend only plays a small part,” Leo continues, meeting her eyes. “And the whole world just nods and continues to look for the perpetrator. Only, you know there’s some holes in the story. Because you know your friend wasn’t where they claimed to be during the whole fiasco and, no matter how brilliant that friend is, they have an incredibly impressive education. The kind of world class education that could only come from a world class institution, if you get my drift.”</p><p>She’s gritting her teeth. Harry works her jaw slowly at first, feeling the magic and Dom within her perk up, swirling as the register the slight twinge of panic that licks through her senses. She’d known, of course, that Leo helping her out with the apartment here, working to help keep the pretence that she was living here was only a quick bandage. It was a pepper-up potion, offering a quick way around a solution but there’s always the indivertible crash at the end.</p><p>This is her crash. All she can do is ensure the wreckage is something that will not draw attention to the cause. Hide it, bury it. Ensure she has Leo’s silence. She wets her lips, inhaling slowly.</p><p>“Hypothetically,” Harry begins, hesitating for a moment as Leo’s eyes sharpen with the understanding this situation isn’t hypothetical at all. “If someone were to realise that their friend with dangerous secrets had holes in their story, then they would hopefully recognise what the potential truth of said story is and keep their hypothetical mouth shut.” She breathes, one long inhale, one low exhale. “If the situation this friend was in was even remotely alike to that of the Rigel Scandal that has somehow become the key-feature in a fixated society’s newspapers, then this person would surely recognise exactly how dangerous a position that friend with dangerous secrets would be in.”</p><p>Leo stares at her. Takes a drink of his tea, completely ignoring the steam that still coils in lazy curls above it’s brim. The Adam’s apple of his throat bobs with the motion and Harry’s zero in on it with no conscious thought on her part. Silence persists between the two of them in this moment and Harry prays, fervently, that she isn’t making a mistake.</p><p>Leo has invited her into his world, has exposed his truths as the Rogue. Despite his disgruntlement over it, he has helped her keep her secrets, despite not knowing the truths behind them.</p><p>Draco, Pansy, the Weasley twins, all of her Hogwarts friends. All of the friends she had made as Rigel. She’d not been able to trust them as she wished she could, could not confide in them. And she is so tired. The ruse can go no further and Leo… she trusts that Leo would never rat her out. That he would look out for her best interests.</p><p>Clearing her throat, Harry plucks up her own cup of tea, inspecting the steam still rising from the liquid. It’s too hot to drink and she blows across the surface. Her magic responds almost without a thought, cooling the liquid until it’s at an acceptable temperature to drink. “And that friend with dangerous secrets would hope that the person who knows what the hole is would quietly fill it, saving her from the possible but certainly serious repercussions.”</p><p>Leo places his mug down, half of the tea gone. There’s no sweat to his brow from their climb and only the slightest granules of chalk remain on his palms, some of it pressed into the handle of the cup he had been holding.</p><p>“I think that person would be very worried about his friend’s <em>incredibly </em>dangerous secret,” Leo stresses, running one hand through his hair, leaving chalk streaks behind but he’s clearly past the point of caring about such a thing. Harry takes another sip of her tea, waiting quietly for the verdict, even as her magic marshals itself ready for the worst outcome. It would pain her greatly to hurt Leo, to force his silence. Things between them would never be the same again. But Harry cannot allow her actions to reflect badly on her family. Not when there is little Addy, her halfblood sister who would be tainted by association. Merlin only knows what would happen to her in the future if Harry were to be incarcerated for bloodline theft.</p><p>“But, his first instinct would be to ask how he could help.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Things, aren’t perfect from there. They spend another five minutes just drinking in the quiet peace of her apartment, the world still turning outside but not quite capable of touching them in here. Not yet. It is not alike any other time she has spent with Leo before but, things have passed between them now that never have prior to this moment. She should probably have expected things to change, Harry realises. She wishes it hadn’t.</p><p>Leo has probably concluded she is Rigel Black. Was Rigel Black. It is not as if she could ever go back to that life now, is it? Leo is the one person who can fill the only gap in her story, who can account for the fact that she has an apartment in the Lower Alleys. He can claim he has visited her, on and off, on the way to his mother’s work. It would explain their closeness to him, were word to reach her James. Though, she doubts he’d like to hear of it. He hasn’t exactly been thrilled with her male friends so far, for all that there is only Leo and Caelum among that list.</p><p>She needs to read Caelum’s letter, come to think of it, lest he barge into the Lower Alleys looking for her, insulting every witch and wizard that have the misfortune to cross his path. Unbelievably, the thought brings a small smile to her face that she hastily packs away. Now is not the time to allow such a thing to cross her mind.</p><p>“Come on then. Everyone else will want to get a good look at you now before that fine face of yours melts away,” Leo declares, clapping one hand on her shoulder as he stands. With a burst of magic that she doesn’t care to differentiate from wand cast or not, their mugs float over to the sink and begin washing themselves in the running water.</p><p>“You don’t know if my true face isn’t finer under all of this,” Harry points out, climbing to her feet and stretching her arms above her head. Her limbs still have that luxurious post-workout ache and she eyes the window, half in trepidation, half in anticipation. “Are we climbing down?”</p><p>“We’ll save that lesson for another day. Call it my assurance that you’ll be back, Heiress Potter.”</p><p>“But then how will I be able to escape your apartment when one of your rogues comes knocking on your door, if not through your window?”</p><p>Leo coughs into his fist at her words, turning his torso away from her and studiously focusing on the door. Harry quickly analyses what she has said, sure there is something wrong, some underlying context that she didn’t quite pick up on. It escapes her though, so she passes it up as a bad job. Maybe, now that she no longer has to content with juggling Rigel’s life alongside her own, she can begin to figure out just what links the phrases that prompt such a reaction from Leo.</p><p>“Moving on from that. Let’s get to the Phoenix. I believe I can hear your usual glass of milk calling. Unless you’ve grown enough to finally partake in a glass of ale?” Leo cocks his head back over his shoulders, firing her that warm grin with mirth dances at the corners of his lips.</p><p>“But I don’t need any hair on my chest now.”</p><p>“Can’t say you’re wrong about that, Lass.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In the summer heat, the Lower Alleys are bustling. With a few years trekking these very paths, Harry now has the experience to look upon the people before her and pick out the ones she should be paying attention to. The duo of pick-pockets who’re scampering along in the shade of a building, passing a fat purse between them as they go. A woman in the clinic’s uniform, winding steadily through the masses with a potions bag that indicates she’s just completed a house-call.</p><p>A kid breaks off from the rest once he sights Leo, meandering in their direction in a way that almost looks nature. If Harry hadn’t seen the way his eyes light up once he spotted Leo, she might have even believed him.</p><p>“Highness,” the kid mutters, tipping an imaginary hat to Leo before his eyes (a dusky blue beneath thick black lashes) land on her. He hesitates for a moment, eyes taking in her light summer robes, before he gives a little shrug. “Miss.”</p><p>“Whatever you need to say, Toby, you can say in front of Harry here. She’s one of us, after all.” That… that’s reassuring to hear. No matter what secrets she has kept, still keeps, the fact Leo still considers her one of them is a comforting thought.</p><p>Perhaps it is the loss of her identity as a Hogwarts student, the methodical disintegration of all the friendships she made through her own actions, but knowing she still retains a place among Leo’s court is comforting. Whatever that place may be.</p><p>“There’s a man asking questions about a letter. Asking after some boy that he thinks sent a letter that passed through here.” The kid pauses, turning to look at her through suspicious eyes. “Looks like Miss. Name’s Rigel-”</p><p>That’s as much as she needs to hear.</p><p>Sending the letter to Draco and Pansy had been a calculated risk. She’d gotten rid of as much evidence as she could. Her magic had been nowhere near her hands as she wrote it and she’d even gone to the effort of Polyjuicing into a child to request assistance from a stranger in Hogsmeade to spell the letter shut. A different face had passed the letter off to another in the Lower Alleys. A letter within a letter within a letter. She’d been inspired by Lily, actually. In a move for vengeance some years ago, Lily had given Sirius a ridiculously large birthday present. But it had been a box within a box within a box; it’d taken Sirius twenty minutes to reach the tiny, tiny slip of paper in the final box, a voucher for glasses. Given he’d been squinting at the writing at the time, Harry thought the final prize had been remarkably apt, for all that Sirius had bought pranking sunglasses with it.</p><p>Her letter to Draco and Pansy had taken the place of the voucher in this instance only, instead of a multitude of blank envelopes to open, each one been addressed to another person of repute in the Lower Alleys. Shop owners or others she could trust to pass the message on. Clearly it had reached its intended destination.</p><p>“Trouble always dogging your footsteps,” Leo mutters beneath his breath beside her, shaking his head before he offers this kid a coin in thanks. “Let’s go see who this is then, shall we?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It’s Professor Snape. Professor Snape is in the Lower Alleys and appears to be mid interrogation with a teenage who looks progressively more frantic by the second. With Dom having already sorted her mindscape out to further protect the ruse now that Rigel has been exposed an imposture, there’s no need for the zing of panic that, against her will, sears through her veins. She’s just Harry right now. Admittedly, Professor Snape will no doubt be surprised to see her wandering through the Lower Alleys, may even set upon her in order to prise Rigel’s location from her. But there’s no location to be found because Rigel does not exist. The whole point of Rigel was to be her pureblood persona for the duration of the deception and now that it’s over, he can fade into obscurity, leaving only his numerous accomplishments with no physical form to pin them to. Exactly as he would have wished it, she thinks with only a touch of irony. </p><p>In fact, should she play her cards right here, she can further cement her story, really establish with Snape (and consequently the SOW party) that she, Harry Potter, has been in the Lower Alleys all along. </p><p>With that in mind, Harry clears her throat and takes a step forwards, away from Leo’s side. </p><p>“Master Snape?” </p><p>His head snaps around, dark eyes zeroing in on her in an instant. The sneer is so profound that it almost, almost, has her flinching back.</p><p>“Potter.” He says her name as if it were a curse and Harry internally scrambles, trying to figure out what has gone wrong, why he would- oh.</p><p>Rigel had been his apprentice. Rigel who has now disappeared and she has admitted to a hand in the deception, even if she had done nothing wrong in the eyes of the law. A very, very dangerous technicality, but it’s just that, a technicality.</p><p>Even her face under the modified Polyjuice will serve as a reminder of her duplicity. </p><p>“Maester Snape, how strange it is to see you not haunting a potions lab.” And there’s Leo, interjecting with his usual amounts of copious good cheer, though there’s something (almost aggressive? Defensive?) off about his tone. </p><p>Snape does look terribly out of place in the Lower Alleys. In the throngs of summer, they’re a brightly lit, warm background, bustling with people lightly dressed and decorated by the occasional flower cart. In comparison, Snape wears his statement black brewing robes, cloaking himself from the summer’s sun as if he were partaking in a strange, inverse hibernation. </p><p>Her former professor stares hard at Leo; it’s obvious he recognises him, but can’t quite place him. Certainly, he cannot have missed how they have appeared together. A half second later, it clicks.</p><p>“Hurst.” Leo’s name rolls of Snape’s tongue rather like poison, dripping in acid and disdain. “Doesn’t this just clarify mysterious connections.”</p><p>“I’m not quite sure what you mean, Master Snape. After all, my father knows Harry through her potions work. Though I’ll admit to seeing her when she was just an eight-year-old potions know-it-all embarrassing customers at the apothecary, the truth is, she’s been renting a place near where my Ma works. Has me over for tea whenever we’re both around.” </p><p>Even as Snape sneers, Harry cannot help but luxuriate in the sweeping sense of relief that comes with knowing her backstory will have necessary support to stand up against further prodding. Leo’s mother will admit to her stopping by the clinic and everyone in the Court of Rogues covers for each other. Worst comes to worst, her job with Krait is exposed to the masses, but that will only further scaffold her tale. The money from the potions brewing is how she has paid for the apartment and Krait cannot dispute her claim of living at Dogwood when he received all his potions by mail.</p><p>“Potter.” Snape’s dark growl has her turning her attentions upon him again and she’s quick to adopt one of Rispah’s favourite looks, the one of polite interest. It’s especially important that she really sells this; Snape is the adult she spent the most time with as Rigel. He’s the one who ‘knew’ Rigel. He’s also the one reporting back to Riddle, maybe Dumbledore too. While she doesn’t think the latter would expose her crimes if he were to learn she is the face behind Rigel, she’s unwilling to take that chance by placing her trust in him. A secret is best kept between as few people as possible.</p><p>“You will present yourself at the Guild on Monday at nine, sharp. I have been placed in charge of reviewing your modified Polyjuice brewing.” </p><p>Oh. So, they wanted to determine her potion does exactly what she said it does? Fair enough, she has little issue with that. It’s not as if she will be drinking it once again; the more distance she puts between Harriet Potter and Rigel Black, the better. Assuming her own face once again, startling green eyes and all, is for the best. </p><p>“Of course, Master Snape. I look forward to it.” Snape scowls, eyes sweeping over her form once again but he doesn’t linger long on her face. No doubt the ghost of Rigel hangs heavy over her every feature; only the green contacts will detract from the overall image and they aren’t as… eery as her actual irises.</p><p>“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Leo muses, rocking back on his heels as Snape sweeps away in a billow of black cloak, the teen he’d been interrogating taking the opening for what it is; an opportunity to flee. “Come on, Harry. I’ll walk you to the Leaky.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The clock has barely struck four by the time Harry returns to Potter Place, stumbling out of the hearth in a flail of limbs that she’d asked too much of. Apparently, it was beyond her to stride out of the fireplace and dust the dirt from her robes.</p><p>“Well, well, well, what time do you call this?”</p><p>With his legs thrown over the arm of Harry’s favourite chair, Archie angles his head back and turns that bright, charming grin on her, eyes silver in the light spilling in from the window. They’ve been separated for near five weeks now, both under house arrest and looking at him now, it’s startling. Like a sudden strike to the face of just how far they’ve come. And speaking of faces, Archie’s is his own. Or, she assumes it is. What with his gift there’s every chance he’s hiding a pimple or two under there. He looks painfully alike to Sirius, though the curve of his eyes, the angle of his jawline isn’t quite right. It’s probably Diana’s influence, something she hasn’t had chance to see before. In their homogenised guise, the chin had been a bit more Potter than anything else. It’s one of the few features she’s expecting to retain when the Polyjuice wears off.</p><p>“Finally managed to wrangle your way free of the snakes’ coils did, you?”</p><p>“It took ages to slip free, they just don’t listen to me. No respect, I say,” Archie grumbles, throwing a forearm over his forehead in mock fatigue, legs kicking back and forth over butter soft leather of the arm chair. Harry makes her way over to her best friend and brother in all but blood, giving no warning as she drops down onto his stomach.</p><p>The oomph that Archie lets out ghosts across her face and Harry snickers, wiggling around until they’re both squashed in a chair meant for a solo occupant, though had always been accommodating if that occupant was of the… bigger-boned variety.</p><p>As if reading her mind, Archie snorts, digging his elbow into her side as he says, “You know, this was a hell of a lot easier when you weren’t so big.”</p><p>“Might get bigger still when the Polyjuice wears off.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, you’re older than you’re supposed to be.” At her reprimanding look, he snorts, eyes rolling and elbow digging in that little bit more. “Don’t worry. It’s just us. Everybody else is out. Besides, I came with news!”</p><p>“News?”</p><p>“Yes, news!” Archie rolls out of the armchair, landing on both feet in a show of dexterity she wouldn’t have expected to see from him. Well, perhaps she’s being a bit unfair there. Archie might not be as fitness orientated as she is, nor does he really partake in duelling, but he’s always been relatively well controlled in his movements. He bounces up, rummaging through the pockets of his casual robes and Harry takes the momentary pause in conversation to really look at him. For five weeks of house arrest (a punishment that Harry is relatively certain would have had Archie climbing the walls by day three), he looks good. Happy, as if a weight as lifted off his shoulders. And… she feels lighter too.</p><p>They’re not yet in the clear, there’s still a great deal of covering up to do, and that’s without even considering the fact they haven’t yet sorted out their respective futures. But this? It’s almost detersive in a way. Cleansing the Rigel off her, all the links and the chains that’s kept them together. She’s Harriet Potter again, potioneer. Harry of the Lower Alleys, a free dueller. Heiress Potter, a half-blood. Maybe in a week it’ll all catch up with her. Maybe she’ll see Theo in Diagon, or she’ll hear of Blaise’s family growing close to Hannah Abotts. Maybe she’ll see the Malfoys or the Parkinsons in the society papers and it’ll all come crashing down on her, what she’s lost.</p><p>Sitting here and basking in Archie’s good nature, his joy and enthusiasm, it’s hard to focus on anything but the here and now.</p><p>“Ta-da!” Archie brandishes a folded-up letter in her direction, the edges well-worn enough to let her know he’s re-read it more times than is necessary. But, then again, that’s Archie for you. “It’s from Hermione. She very aggressively insisted she wanted to meet to clear things up and if I didn’t meet with her, then so help her, ‘she would hunt me down’.” It feels like Archie is paraphrasing part of the letter, but Harry offers him a polite nod, thinking of the muggleborn who hadn’t hesitated to help out at the Clinic, who took so aggressively to studying the Fade the second she recognised its significance in society.</p><p>“Dad actually let her come over yesterday, even though I was still a jailbird at the time. We spent absolutely ages talking and-” Archie’s mouth suddenly snaps shut, lips curling up in a rather worrisome grin before he leaps at her. Harry’s magic is too quick to react though, catching him mid-belly flop before he can truly sprawl out across her and use his superior weight class to crush her beneath fifty-six kilograms of teenaged boy.</p><p>“We’re okay,” Archie finishes, lying dramatically over her invisible barrier, limbs straggled out to take up as much room as is humanly possible.</p><p>Harry gives her magic a slight nudge, Archie floating down to gently lie atop her, and she ruffles her cousin’s hair. It’s hard not to be genuinely happy for him. The bond he and Hermione share is strong, that much is clear and, unlike her own friendships within Hogwarts, it hadn’t been built on a foundations that were complete lies. Between Hermione and Archie, there was no bigotry; one of them didn’t believe themselves superior to the other simply because of how they were born. Oh, none of her Hogwarts friends knew she was a halfblood, one of those they all looked down upon.</p><p>Well, she rather guesses they’re aware of it now, what with the whole blood debacle.</p><p>“I’m happy for you, Archie.” Her cousin is happy, that much is clear.</p><p>And, maybe, Harry could begin to strive for that herself.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'd love to know what kind of dark magic was used to make these characters/the Pureblood Pretense. Because I just could not stop writing.</p><p>Thank you so much to EmptySurface who took the time to check this through for mistakes!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She starts with Lestrange’s letter.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Halfblood,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What in Merlin’s name is going on. I’ve left you alone in the country for a few months without competent supervision and now you’ve gone and gotten your sticky fingers all over this Rigel Black situation. Master Whitaker didn’t even need to inform me; it’s all over the international papers so I shudder to think what disgraces have been splashed across the society pages at home.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Brat, I am hearing the most ridiculous tales and, despite your deplorable blood status, you’re almost good at putting your ear to the ground. Was Rigel Black a halfblood impostor? It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest; I always knew there was something strange about him and he stood out like bloodroot in a blood-replenisher. When I instructed you to keep me informed on your unintuitive experiments, that did not give you carte blanche to refrain from sharing information as important as this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re on shaky ground, Potter, despite the probationary steps you’ve taken into the potions field. Your little shape imbuing trick may have bought you a shred of credit with someone as great as Master Snape ensuring you do not blow yourself up, but if you have by some miracle created modified Polyjuice and used it to support this farce Black has conducted, you can kiss any respect within the community goodbye.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Make sure you attend the Gala. I expect answers on what ridic nonsense you’ve concocted this time. When I look over your work, as is my right as your future Master, we may be able to make it into something worthwhile. If you can keep yourself out of Azkaban, that is.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-C. Lestrange</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Well, she certainly appreciates the potions metaphor Lestrange had managed to slot in there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Relaxing back into the comforts of her bed, Harry slouches across the excess of pillows, carefully placing Lestrange’s letter upon her bedside table. It is not something that requires a reply, though why he thinks she will be able to attend the Malfoys’ latest and greatest shindig, a gala tied to Draco’s fifteenth birthday party, she doesn’t have the slightest clue. The ceiling above her bed is splattered with glow-in-the-dark stars, all correctly placed, as if they’d been stolen right from the pages of an astronomy textbook. In truth, she wouldn’t put it past Sirius to have done so, though she has no evidence as to the culprit of the star ceiling prank. It’s just as likely to have been James; he’d assume an astrology focus would throw suspicion off him and onto Sirius. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The truth of it is, she wants to go to the Gala. She wants to see her friends, even if they are no longer hers. Were never hers to begin with. They’re Rigel’s. All they’ve ever known is Rigel, a mask she wore in order to acquire the education she needs. They knew she had her secrets and, while they may not have been happy about it, they accepted it. Only, they would never learn her truths, Rigel’s truths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To them, Rigel will always be the pureblood pretender, the halfblood who’d had the gall to come to Hogwarts anyway, who had tricked them with his lies as he feigned he was one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would be the student who cured the sleeping sickness, who slayed the basilisk and won the Triwizard Tournament. It is for the best that his legacy fades into obscurity, only lingering where it is needed to fight the COW party’s dastardly schemes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For all that it’s made her life so much harder… Harry would not have traded it for the world. For a brief few years, she had friends. Best friends. She had the attention of her hero, before she’d earned it under her own name. There are some things she won’t be sad to see the back of, however. The hostilities, the hard eyes that followed her every move. Lord Riddle’s attentions. That one in particular she’s glad to be rid of. He may have pushed her, manoeuvred her into the positioning that would best benefit him and his. But… she’d had the last laugh in the end. He’s played her as ruthlessly as he does others, only, he’d been working under false pretences. He’d assumed he was dealing with Rigel Black, pureblood and Heir to the House of Black. If that’d been who he had been dealing with, she doesn’t doubt he’d have won.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’d been Harry Potter he was playing against though. She’d held the ace and now, having played it, she’s made off into the night with her ill-gotten fortune and left him ransacked at the table. In the very least, there will be no way to dispute a halfblood’s worth. Not with the showing Rigel had given. The thought makes her smile, even as she lays herself over the top of her bed covers, scrubbing one hand through her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One night. She’ll have one night sleeping on the top of the bed covers. She’s not in Hogwarts robes, but her causal day set is close enough. One night, still pretending she’s that Slytherin, going to sleep in dormitories she’ll never visit again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, she’ll continue packing Rigel Black away until every trace of him she can possibly remove from her life is gone.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Polyjuice wears off the next morning, just as she’s brushing her teeth. Her entire body spasms and she drops the toothbrush out of reflex, gripping the edges of the sink as toothpaste dribbles down her chin. It is an uncomfortable sensation, feeling her shoulders slim down, her hips and chest round. Even her short hair adjusts how it lays across her head, one errant curl brushing up against her cheekbone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not a long process but, once the sensation has passed, she’s hesitant to look into the mirror. After all, this is the face she’ll be living with now for the rest of her life. There’s no need for her to take Polyjuice anymore. Archie, being a metamorphmagi, has been wearing his own face ever since the ruse was officially announced to be up. She wouldn’t be surprised to see Sirius parading his son up and down Diagon Alley, no doubt pleased as punch that Archie so clearly takes after him. Speaking of children looking like their parents…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry draws in one long, low breath and lifts her head up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, she thinks as she stares into her own luminous green eyes, there will be no more rumours that she and Archie are twins separated at birth. Her hair is, without question, the same Potter mess that her father boasts and she’s got his chin, if softened slightly. The sharp pureblood cheekbones are softened by the cheeks from her Mother, though it’s the only feature she can really pick out. That and the eyes. It’s strange; she’s become so used to seeing Rigel’s face in the mirror, the genetic hybrid that comes from both herself and Archie, that it’s near painful to see that familiarity stripped away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry lifts her hand, running it down the side of her cheek to her jawline. She looks older than she should. Not significantly so and, with the way no one has seen her actual face for about three years, she doubts anyone else will notice it. But the puppy fat of her youth is gone, leaving an angled stranger in the mirror. She doesn’t doubt she’ll be giving her reflection a second look many a time in the next few days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is a plus point to all of this; if her Polyjuice has worn off, the rest of Magical Britain will take it to mean Rigel’s Polyjuice will also be gone. Now, anyone could be Rigel; other than a child with no magical aura and a known Parselmouth, they’ll have no idea what else they’re looking for. And it’s not exactly like either of those two traits are stamped across the forehead of a person with them. In fact, the only other Parselmouth out there, besides Harry herself, would be the construct. And she doesn’t doubt Riddle will recognise that for what it is before he goes assuming it to be the runaway Rigel Black.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s, it’s another safety net, another step away from her pretence. Another step to being just Harry once again.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she arrives in the kitchen and takes up her seat, her father breaks off mid-sentence. Adamant to not acknowledge the change or make a big deal of it, Harry goes about selecting a piece of toast (just on the right side of brown) and begins spooning her eggs onto the surface. Only once she has completed that task and cut her breakfast into bite-sized pieces does she deign to look up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James is staring at her in open-mouthed astonishment. His eyes are slightly bulged, cutlery loose in his grip and there’s a streak of ketchup down the front of his auror robes. Not that he really seems to care, or have even noticed it in truth. Harry meets his gaze for a moment before she returns to her eggs and toast, spearing a piece with relish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lily,” James’ first call comes out quiet, almost strangled, but he seems to regain control of his lungs a moment later. “Lily! Lily, come quick!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“James, what on earth-” her mother cuts off as she appears at the door, a very tired Addy balanced on one hip and the only one in the house not goggling at her. It’s… it’s not a pleasant sensation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d been aware the changes would be stark, but this is surely out of hand… isn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that bad,” Harry starts hesitantly, lifting one hand up to brush at the lock of hair that persists in brushing against her cheekbone on the left-hand side of her face, “is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James coughs, clearing his throat and his cutlery clatters against his plate as he sets it down. He stares at her across the table, a serious expression on his face as he calmly states, “you’re no longer allowed to see Leo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or that Lestrange boy,” he continues, not even registering her question, “or any other male friends that I don’t know about. In fact, you’re not allowed out anymore. You’re under house arrest again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>House arrest again? Now that’s just plain unreasonable. Of course, her father would be upset she’d been lying to him, but she’s served the punishment he’d assigned with little to no resistance. To dole out a second one when one solid piece of her duplicity is exposed, when her true face is exposed, is unfair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What your father is trying to say,” Lily cuts in, firing a look to James that’s full of heat and amused suspicion, “is that he thinks you look very pretty, Harry. Stunning even.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, thank you,” she says in lieu of having nothing else lined up. The very last thing she’d been expecting was a compliment. Does she look pretty? Harry isn’t sure. The concept of beauty is, after all, subjective. But if her mother, who Harry has always thought to be a beautiful woman, considers her pretty, then it could be the case. She’ll agree with the use of the word stunning; her eyes sear in a way she imagines very few are capable of. She wonders if Lily feels guilty about that now and hopes her mother doesn’t. For all that they are startling… she likes the green. Green eyes had always been Harry’s thing, the one difference between her and Rigel Black when under Polyjuice. Even with the poor imitation of the eye colour the contacts had provided her with, that’d been the thing to signal she’s Harry Potter, halfblood and a girl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very pretty,” James mutters, very much begrudging in his tone and his face tainted with despair. “Merlin, it’s a damn good thing I’m not working the Minster’s protection details at the Gala this year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At the- we’re going to the Gala?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The invitation arrived with the morning post,” Lily offers, holding out a thick piece of card with the hand not supporting Addy. Her little sister is staring at her something fierce and Harry’s pretty certain it’s not due to an early onset of the famed Potter short-sightedness. Harry wiggles her fingers in her little sister’s direction as the accepts the card Lily holds out, letting a few bursts of magic free from the tip of each one. The little bubbles of light flutter out and Addy relaxes instantly, no doubt recognising her magic. It might take a little bit of time for her sister to adjust to her new face but-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha-ree.” But she recognises her. That’s the most important thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s an invitation for all of us. You are addressed by name, Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They want to subtly needle me for more information,” Harry concludes, noting that the card does indeed have her full name elegantly sprawled across the surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll need new dress robes. I’ll help you pick some out this afternoon. No doubt if I leave it to you, then you’ll show up in your brewing robes and boots.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re practical,” Harry defends with a sniff, turning her eyes to the hallway door, where the boots in question would currently be stored.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this about practical? Other than the fact I’m practically perfect in every way.” Sirius fills the doorway before Harry can turn her attention back to her breakfast. There’s an awkward moment as they both stare at each other, Sirius goggling in a manner reminiscent to her father mere moments ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad! I can’t get around and you’re blocking the food!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sirius lets out a stunned, low whistle as Archie bullies his way past, using his irritatingly increasing height and sharp elbows to shove his father aside. Her cousin bounces into the kitchen, pulling up a chair and dropping into it, snatching up a slice of toast to eagerly begin buttering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sirius! Thank Merlin, tell Harry she can’t go out like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t go out like that,” Sirius dutifully repeats, a wicked grin stretching across his face as he looks her over again. “At least, not without letting your mother lengthen your hair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wounded noise of betrayal that passes through James’ lips would be something she’d be more inclined to believing Sirius had created in his animagus form rather than a human. And, true to his heritage, Archie chooses to twist the knife a little deeper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe Aunt Lily could do something with her eyelashes too? Thicken ‘em, a bit? She won’t need my engagement protection for long in any case- Hey! These are new robes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why can we not get through a single week without a food fight, is it so much to ask?” Lily whines, settling Addy into her highchair as a retaliation shot of baked beans soars towards James. Given that his robes are already a lost cause due to his earlier ketchup slip, Harry rather gets the feeling her father isn’t too bothered by Archie’s return fire, more enthused with the idea of getting Addy to join in. And, despite the deception, despite the broken trust, it almost feels like a normal summer’s day.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s had to buy a new potions bag. Obviously, Rigel would have disappeared with his, along with all the ingredients contained within. The loss of access to the basilisk scales that’d been set aside for future experimentation does sting, but Harry comforts herself with the knowledge she’ll be able to apply for the use of some once she gains her potion’s mastery. Regardless, a new bag means new ingredients, especially given that she will be meeting Professor Snape on Monday at the Guild.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She floos to the Leaky, passing through the usual entrance into Diagon. It’s much too early in the summer holidays for the school-supplies crush to be present, but there’s a fair few people out and about. They’re an array of colour in their summer robes, meandering about the main alley as if they don’t have anywhere to be. Harry doesn’t get it; why on earth would you come to Diagon Alley without the need to actually buy something? Looking for presents she can understand, but she has much better things to do with her day than just wander around window-shopping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her boots clip against the cobblestones as she makes her way down the street, avoiding the small puddles left over from last night’s downpour. It won’t be long until they evaporate under the heat of the sun but she has no desire to dawdle until that point. It hasn’t stopped others from venturing out either; she can spot a few carts that have clearly meandered up from the Lower Alley, along with a few little salespeople holding onto their wares. One of which is Margo. Margo who looks her over and then doesn’t so much as acknowledge she’s there. It has Harry pausing for a moment, a pang of hurt tearing through her chest before reality catches up. Of course, the Polyjuice is gone. Margo will be looking for the wrong face entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If anything, her reaction will be a good judge on how people outside of her family are going to take the new face, Harry thinks as she makes her way over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you selling, little miss?” Harry asks, pitching her voice just a bit lower than her natural tone, watching Margo’s face screw up in confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Astrantias, Miss. They’ve just come into bloom now that we’re in June.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Margo, look at my boots.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margo flinches ever so slightly at being addressed by name but she does indeed look. It takes all of a second for her to realise exactly who she’s talking to, bright eyes flicking up to take in her face again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry? Have you had a potions accident?” A potions accident? Harry laughs, amused despite herself. The kind of accidents she could have at her level now would not leave her with a face this normal looking, that’s for sure. If an accident would even leave her with much of a face at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not an accident. The potion I was taking to look like Archie wore off. This is what I actually look like.” Harry captures that single lock that’s just a bit too short to go back into the small ponytail at the back of her head, despite how Lily had lengthened it before she left. She tucks it behind her ear again, even though it’s a fruitless endeavour. It’s hardly going to remain there, no matter how much she wishes it would. Maybe she should invest in some hairclips? That or a headband; she cannot afford to be distracted by her hair when making some of the more volatile potions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look really pretty,” Margo says, hiking her bag of flowers up onto her shoulder to secure it. “Just wait until I tell Leo!” And then she’s off, scampering towards Knockturn Alley in a flash of long hair and whirling skirts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry watches her go for a moment, a little smile tucked up in the corner of her mouth. That’s the second person to tell her she’s pretty today. Maybe Lily hadn’t been lying, maybe her face is pretty. Not that it matters all that much; potioneers go on the front of the Guild’s journal based on merit, not their appearance. And she has every intention of being on the front cover one day.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With her potions bag near-full, Harry grins up at Tate as he hands over another bag of ingredients, her total having come out a little cheaper than she’d been expecting. She’s relatively sure that she totalled it up correctly (poor addition skills have injured many an aspiring potioneer) but, from the smile her trusted ingredients supplier offers her, she’s certain he’s aware of it. Which means he’s giving her a discount. Well, she’s hardly going to look a gift hippogriff in the mouth, is she? Not when she has a full bag to restock anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No more of your wonder Polyjuice then, Miss Potter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope. No need anymore. The whole thing is up which means this is the face that’ll be continuing to haunt your shelves for the foreseeable future.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bit of a shock to see those eyes of yours again,” Tate continues, rubbing as his chin with one hand while the other waves his wand, her receipt writing itself, “but not unwelcomed. Reckon more than a few people will be memorising your appearance today. Right, Leo?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry spins around shouldering her potions bag as she goes to find the Rouge himself hastily reorganising himself. He’s now leaning against one shelf, looking all the world like he’s been there all along. If she hadn’t seen the last-minute movement of his limbs, Harry might have even believed it. But no, she’d caught him in the act, if only thanks to Tate. Maybe someday in the future she’ll catch him solo before he springs into existence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I…” Leo trails off, his eyes roving over her, from the tops of her half-tamed Potter hair, all the way down to her favourite boots. His eyes linger there for a moment, recognition blooming in his hazel eyes before his gaze climbs again to the summit of her face. Harry puts on her best unimpressed frown, cocking one hip to a side and waiting for his verdict. Only, Leo doesn’t say anything at all. Just continues to stare in a way that is not helping her frazzled nerves. It’s almost painfully similar to the way the SOW party had looked at Rigel. As if he were the thing they coveted most, a prime example for them to collect and then parade about as needed. Whatever Leo thinks she’s a fine example of, Harry doesn’t have a clue. Nor is she sure she wants to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, she turns her attentions back on Tate, smiling and holding her hand out for the receipt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Mr. Tate. I’ll be back next month.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I look forward to it, Miss Potter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning around, Harry almost flinches back at how much closer Leo suddenly is, huffing when she realises she has to angle her head back just a little bit more than usual. She’d been aware she lost an inch or two with the Polyjuice wearing off, but that fact is a bit harder to ignore when it affects her posture like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, this is your real face, is it?” Leo asks, head tilting to a side as he appraises her features once more, his eyes lingering on hers until Harry tears her gaze away, hefting her potions bag up onto her shoulder in one well practiced swoop. The strap doesn’t fit quite right, still adjusted to her Rigel body but that’ll be a quick fix.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the Polyjuice wore off, so unless I got dosed with a prank product this morning, then this is it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’ll be no hiding the fact you’re a little princess now,” Leo suddenly bemoans, pressing a hand over his chest and stumbling theatrically, one hand coming up to fan his face. “The thought of all the suitors I’m gonna have to beat back so you can have even a modicum of peace is already making me weak at the knees.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry huffs at his dramatics, taking a step around Leo to make for the door. She’s not too surprised when he throws an arm over her shoulder, his palm warm even through the thin sleeve of her robe. “I don’t need you fighting off my suitors. I don’t have time for that anyway with what I’m working on.” She’s got to sort out the last of her potion’s first aid kit and run it by Professor Snape before she sends that off to the Guild for testing. Then, she’s got to make sure all the loose ends of Rigel Black are tied up before she even approaches the idea of her own schooling. She doubts her parents will let her continue with her correspondence school. Harry’s relatively sure she could pass it all anyway, what with the grounding she’s gotten from Flint’s essays and having her own study time, but she doesn’t think that’ll fly with her parents. Which is a shame because she’d have so much more time for potions making if that were the case. Chances are, she’ll be shipped off to AIM for real this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least she’ll be with Archie if that’s what it comes down to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t work all the time, Lass,” Leo grumbles, getting the door and holding it open for her as she walks out. He’s quick to catch her arm before she can get out of range, placing it in the crook of his elbow and Harry rolls her eyes at him, slipping the limb free and swatting at his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t I?” Harry asks and perhaps it’s a risk to use one of Rispah’s faces without practice (at least in regards to her new features anyway). She tries regardless, putting that wistful longing into her gaze, allowing her lip to give the slightest uncertain tremble as she looks up at Leo from beneath her lashes. At least the inch or so she’s lost only adds to this particular look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leo stares. His lips are parted slightly and she can see the tips of his ears are going ever so slightly red. He’d not been out in the sun long enough for it to be sunburn, though she’s pretty certain Leo only tans, never burns. He mutters something under his breath, though Harry only managed to catch Rispah’s name before the Rouge is back to normal, both hands coming up to rest behind his head, chin tilted up towards the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I suppose you could work all summer long, but then who am I going to spend my time teaching? I mean, Archie seemed nice enough when you introduced us and there’s always the lovely Hermione, I’m sure I could wheedle her away from my Ma with a little effort-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oi!” Harry sticks one foot out in a lacklustre effort to trip Leo but he gamely jumps over it, not even adjusting his stride. “I’ll have time for our duelling sessions,” Harry insists, peering up at Leo to make sure he’s not going to go through with his idea of recruiting Archie (or Merlin forbid, Hermione) to become his latest apprentice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leo hums, rubbing at his chin in a bout of mock decision-making and Harry skids to a stop, folding her arms and waiting for her friend’s showboating to come to a halt. Then, another thought strikes her and Harry scowls harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And don’t go charming Hermione, Archie won’t thank you for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, your cousin’s taken with the girl? Not sure the SOW party are going to like that,” Leo muses before a wicked smile slashes across his face, like the harsh winter sun cutting through cloud cover, “and I thought the two of you were betrothed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no clause in there saying we have to be faithful and either one of us can call it off once we’re of age,” Harry explains and she sees the moment Leo deduces it’s for her own safety with the current fluctuation the laws. Though, if things go Dumbledore’s way, that might not be for much longer. The SOW party have lost a lot of momentum following the Triwizard Tournament, all but ground to halt, actually. It’s their fault; Riddle had wanted to put an end to the blood debate, once and for all. And an end had been put to it. When a halfblood had won it. Really, Harry thinks and only lets the smallest amount of smugness bloom across her lips, if he hadn’t pushed so hard for her to be included, this wouldn’t be an issue. That she’d gotten what she wanted out of the bargain as well just makes it that much sweeter, even if the ruse has bitten the dust as a result. That Riddle has had to halt all his legislation that he never got to shove through; it tastes like the sweetest of chocolates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s good to know. Now come on, Lass. Let’s go show your pretty face off at the Phoenix.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t. My mum’s already claimed my time today. She’s taking me shopping. For dress robes,” Harry drawls out in displeasure, forcing herself not to scowl. It’s not that she dislikes robe shopping, but it’s hardly her favourite activity. Unless she’s going for more brewing robes. There’s just something about judging the quality of the purchase she’s about to make that Harry finds incredibly pleasing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dress robes?” With his voice pitched ever so slightly higher in question, Leo sizes her up again, that charming smirk lifting his cheeks and making his eyes glitter with warmth. “Whatever would you need dress robes for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been invited to the Summer Gala. The Malfoys are hosting it this year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. They want to test your story, make sure all is as you’ve said it is,” Leo concludes, face falling with the severity of the situation, one hand coming up to scratch as the edge of his jaw. His face is angular, not the pointed sharpness of the Book of Gold purebloods, but sharp enough for Harry to notice the stark relief between neck and face. “I best let you go then. I assume you have a plan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, I have a plan. Rigel is gone and he’s not coming back. We don’t even have the same face anymore.” The SOW party will be chasing his ghost for the rest of their days as far as Harry is concerned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be careful, Lass. Come stop by the Phoenix when you have a moment. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can do.” Leo claps her on the shoulder, before he apparently thinks better of it and reels her into a hug, chin resting on the crown of her head as Harry’s hands hang uselessly by her sides. It takes a moment, but then her arms are around his waist, giving a small squeeze before she releases him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too, Leo. Watch out for Marek.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs, shaking his head and boldly declares Marek Swiftknife is hardly the person he needs to be watching out for. It’s not untrue; there’s been no word of Claw or Scar, only another attack on the Lower Alleys in the middle of spring. It’s like the calm before the storm and the whole thing has Harry unsettled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leo’s fingers find the one curl that she can’t quite tuck away yet, twisting it and something else around her ear before he releases her. “I’m glad I’ve gotten to see this face of yours, Harry. Don’t ever hide it away again.” And then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowds in the way only the Rouge can do, leaving Harry standing with an astrantia tucked behind her ear and a heart not as steady as she’d like it to be.</span>
</p><p>
  
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  <span>Harry falls into her mindscape with practiced ease. Sand particles scrape up against the bared flesh of her arms, the wind whipping through her hair and Harry squints against the harsh sunlight, head turning away and to a side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It has been a while, Harriet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dom.” The Dominion Jewel stares out at her from behind Rigel Black’s flat silver eyes, his head tilting ever so slightly to a side as he considers her. This conversation has been a long time coming but Harry had not dared to meditate in her house arrest, well aware her parents were on tenterhooks with her and everything she had to cover would require mental magic and an in-depth discussion that she just couldn’t do in the waking world. Not without being accused of spacing out anyway. Likely, that’d have only worried her parents more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see that the ruse is up,” Dom continues, head tilting back and his features slowly begin to bubble, fluctuating before they smooth out into a new façade. He’s taller now, the same mess of Potter hair that her father boasts but with deep brown eyes. He stretches his hands out, fingers spread wide as his shoulders rotate. It looks, Harry thinks with a grimace, rather like a demon checking out the latest body they have possessed. But that thought brings with it the Riddle Construct and Harry resolutely shoves that thought down, burying it deep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s with the new look?” she asks instead, glancing around now that the sandstorm is bleeding out of existence. They’re in the middle of the town, the one at the base of the pyramid. A bubbling brook of water that she highly doubts would actually be in an Egyptian town divides the street in two, joined every ten or so yards by ornamental bridges, the purpose obviously intended to be more aesthetically pleasing than to be of any actual use. There are shells of people passing to and fro, vendors behind their stalls, a low buzz of background noise that she can’t make out the words for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should any trespass into your mind far enough to meet me, then it would be an ill-conceived idea for me to remain in the form of Rigel Black, would it not? Now, I am the older brother you always wished to have watching over you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never wished to have an older brother,” Harry corrects, nose scrunching with the thought. Archie, as much as she loves him, is bad enough and there’s only a week between them. She cannot imagine what an older brother would be like, other than to be a terrible mix of her cousin and her father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But no one else knows that.” Dom waves his hand back and forth, a pharaoh batting away the concerns presented by a lesser being. The image, as always, suits him. Gold glitters on his fingers, each ring adorned by a gemstone, though none are as large as the one that resides in the centre of his amulet. It’s a surprise he hasn’t given himself a crown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now come, I will show you the new defences while you organise your thoughts for what is sure to be the latest in your riveting array of life-plans.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They progress through the imitation of an Egyptian town slowly, Dom pointing out the great walls that now surround the town and the collection of guards that man each post. Harry’s relatively sure the catapult contraption installed on each wall is from Ancient Rome, if she’s remembering her lessons with Remus right, but she doesn’t want to question it too much. It’s a complex layout, a small portion of her magic burning bright as the sun above the pyramid. It’s a hollowed-out sphere, the vast majority hidden within the vast caverns of the monument now, the orb sitting at the pinnacle nothing more than a red herring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The newest addition that doesn’t appear to have much of a purpose is the oasis. While contained within the walls of her…. city, there’s no obvious weaponry, nor any constructs playing within the waters who could theoretically do battle with an intruder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The water vapour that evaporates from the surface can induce the same effects as your calming draught, if I will it,” Dom explains, seating himself with all the grace of a king beside the water’s edge, dipping his bare feet into the liquid. Harry joins him after a moment of consideration, kicking off her boots and peeling the socks free from her feet, toes skimming the surface of the water. It laps at her skin like the real thing, feels cool just like she would expect it to. The sun feels hot on the back of her neck and the hair on her head, the wind ruffling through her curls exactly as it does when she’s in the waking world. It’s incredibly realistic; Harry wouldn’t be surprised if she were able to claim her mindscape as the most realistic one currently in existence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, she’s the only one with the Dominion Jewel residing in her mental landscape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think you could block a magical gift?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dom glances over at her, an amused smile on his face. It looks nothing like what she’s ever seen on James’ face, or Lily’s. She can only assume that is an expression that comes from her instead which is… odd. “Is that not what I spent time doing last year with your empath friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean could you block my gift? The Parseltongue?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, Dom does blink, eyes narrowing as he considers her request. Then, a hand is presented to her, palm up. There’s not a callous in sight on the pads of his palm, no hints that he has ever held a wand or broom. Harry hands off a small sample of her magic, no more than a few grapes worth; Dom consumes them as if he were a Roman Emperor, relaxing back and passing each orb between his lips with a careless grace. The only thing missing from the picture was a servant clad in white linen to hand-feed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It should not be a problem. This is to avoid your enemy’s notice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Harry agrees, not even trying to fight the title. If he were not an enemy before, Riddle most certainly will be now, what with the way the Triwizard Tournament had ended. “I’d like to get some practice with the blocking before we go to the Gala. And, speaking of, I need to bounce some ideas off you regarding the wand problem.” Because Riddle, Snape and the Malfoys would all recognise Harry’s wand for Rigel’s. True, she could acquire another one, there are plenty sitting idle in the Potter vaults.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she cannot dream of being parted from this one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, she outlines her idea to Dom. Another potion, shape imbued with a glamour. She’ll coat her wand in it, leaving a permanent cover over the wooden surface so it appears to be elm, just like the first wand she had gotten. She can’t quite recall if that had come up in conversation when she had gone with Professor Snape to rectify Rigel’s wand problem, but it’s best to stick as close to the truth as she can in this instance. Though she can do nothing about the wand itself, she’ll be able to hide its appearance and, should anyone magically sensitive see it, they’ll just assume it’s the core they’re sensing. She’ll have to ensure that the wand’s glamour will only come down with a potion imbued with ‘revelio’ instead of the traditional ‘finite incantatem’ given how many of her potions respond to that one in particular. The last thing she needs is James or Sirius accidently splashing her wand and stripping the remaining ruse of another protective layer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone needs to believe Rigel Black is a separate person. If that means hiding the appearance of her wand, so be it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It could work,” Dom decides, his lips pursed as he peruses the oasis, fingers twitching. Three bubbles rise from the water and, as they pop, lily-pads bloom into existence. Harry watches the pink petals peel open atop the green pad, chewing on her lip as she thinks it over. “You could also borrow the concept your Rouge uses, a casing for your wand that enchants its magic at the same time. If only you had an artefact lying useless-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> using the Rod of Zuriel.” That little trinket of Riddle’s is going to remain in her vault until the end of time. Or until she can find a ritual to destroy it. She’s dealt with one mind-devouring gem once already and managed to come out the better for it, but she’s not about to push her luck with a second one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dom sniffs, rising to his feet and brushing down his pants for non-existent dirt, as he says, “Suit yourself.” It comes out more as an ancient curse than any dismissive comment has a right to and Harry finds herself scowling in return. “I believe you may want to look at our prisoner before you leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world around them jumps, plunging into darkness for a moment. Then, everything comes into being as the torch lights on the wall reignite, showcasing a glass sarcophagus. Harry takes a moment to look around, peering at the carvings on the walls. They’re all predominantly Egyptian in design, though the story they tell-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dom. We can’t have Rigel’s adventures documented anywhere in the mindscape that’s supposed to belong to Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both mindscapes belong to you. Besides, this room, for all that it is designed within a similar style to that of your currently upper level mindscape, resides within your mountain layer. I thought it would be prudent that, on the off chance the magic could ever report back to its origin, it be best to distance it’s tomb from your secondary identity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Harry breathes, inspecting the room with new eyes. It will be as if this is part of Rigel’s mind, on the off chance that Riddle’s magic can report back. A room where some of his memories were stored, even if it were nothing more than a false positive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that in mind, she turns back to the only object within the room, inspecting the blue flame that flickered beneath the lid of the jewel casket. Riddle’s magic, still within her system, even if it is separated from the core of her magic. Dom has assumed her frequently that he can keep it hidden, keep it secure; Riddle had frowned when they’d met after the Tower Trial, unable to feel the fraction of magic he’d forced on her. And Harry, as Rigel, had smiled and said nothing. She’s not sure what the glass coffin is made from, only that it entraps Riddle’s magic in such a way that it’s owner can no longer sense it within her system. That is another thing to add on to her list; finding a way to extract that particular parasite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. For your hard work. I know you don’t really have a choice, but I appreciate it all the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dom blinks, the dark brown eyes taking on a ruby-like glow that has her pushing down memories of an underground tomb and the floating gem that had destroyed her captor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be careful. Your ruse is not yet secure and your enemy will be gathering his forces.” Yes, she rather imagines Riddle will be. Though the marriage law may have gone through before she managed to win the tournament, she highly doubts it will hold for long in the wake of her ‘Rigel reveal’. With the SOW party blocked from installing any more anti-muggleborn legislations, that just leaves the masked wizards who’d first appeared at the World Cup to deal with. There’s also her own schooling issue to resolve but Harry rather thinks that should be at the bottom of her list for now. With one last nod, Harry leaves, fully intending to begin solving the wand issue. </span>
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  <span>Monday morning dawns bright and early. The sunlight spills in through her window and Harry springs from the bathroom already dressed and prepared for the day. Her wand, now looking as if it were made from elm instead of holly, is slotted into the new holster Archie had gotten for her and her potions bag is over one shoulder. With the summer brewing robes and her trusty boots, she looks like any respectable potioneer. Certainly not the halfblood in hiding who has caused a political revolution. Well, perhaps that is too bold. But she likes to think she sparked one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riddle had wanted her to compete. It serves him right that he bit off more than he can chew for once. It’s too much to hope that he chokes on it; she’s not that lucky. If the one good thing to come of her luck is that the tournament backfired in his face, then Harry will take it. Because, despite the marriage law, her family is safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grabs a slice of toast from the kitchen as quickly as she can, making for the living room and hastily scribbling ‘Potion’s Guild – Meeting Master Snape’ onto the ‘where is Harry going’ board. Then, she’s gone in a whirl of floo powder.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Guild is just how she remembered it. It’s a comfort to know that, despite how her circumstances have changed, some things do indeed remain the same. A quick look to the clock that sits upon one wall lets her know that she’s a quarter of an hour early but Harry cannot help it. She’s eager, excited even, though she tries to not let that bloom too much onto her face. She is a respectable potioneer who is filled to the brim with ideas, ideas she would very much like to see checked by the Guild’s safety team before the summer is out. Her first-aid potion kit is almost ready, she just wants to finish up that idea with the needles, but that might mean her actually having to go and acquire a set to study before she implements it. The muggles have been using them for a while now, haven’t they? Perhaps she can check through what the already know; it would be very poor form indeed to apply their techniques and overlook a potential problem just because she hadn’t been thorough enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stopping by the reception, Harry forcibly still her legs, not allowing herself to rock back on her heels as she so dearly wishes to do. She doesn’t recognise the receptionist, she’s not the same woman as last year but Harry tries not to think too much on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning. I’m here to meet Master Snape; I think he’ll have a room booked?” He had mentioned reviewing her Polyjuice brewing and she assumes that will necessitate a demonstration of the actual brewing process. Though, how she’s supposed to do that for the duration the potion actually takes to create, she’s not sure. Unless she’s expected to show up to complete each step as necessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Snape?” the woman mutters, passing a bubble of air from one cheek to the other as she flicks disinterestedly through her papers. Harry bites her tongue, halting the insistent need to correct the receptionist because it’s M</span>
  <em>
    <span>aster Snape</span>
  </em>
  <span> not the Snape. “Yes, Lab E for nine o’clock… You’re early.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you know what they say,” Harry chirps, accepting the key the woman hands off to her, “the early potioneer gets the best woodworm.” The woman’s nose scrunches in disgust and Harry does her best not to scowl at the waste of a perfectly good potion’s idiom. Lestrange, in the very least, would have caught that one. And how sad that she’s wishing to see his painfully handsome face, if only to watch it screw up in disgust in response to all her half-blood glory. She does hope that Master Whitaker hasn’t pandered too badly to him, otherwise she’ll be spending all summer undoing whatever entitlement they’ve managed to reinstall in her pureblood pet-project.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master Snape arrives at nine o’clock on the dot, stepping through the door with the same unimpressed look upon his face that she recalls from her early days at Hogwarts. Back before she’d distinguished herself from the crowd. Harry has already set up the potions bench with everything she will need to brew the Polyjuice potion, including a sizeable piece of amber. There’s a considerable silence following her former professor’s arrival and Harry looks up in confusion, feeling the weight of her (forcibly tidied by Lily) eyebrows press together above her nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master Snape?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“… Miss Potter,” he says steadily and in almost anyone else, it would be acknowledgement, a simple greeting. But Harry has studied beneath this man for four years now; she can read the blatant surprise in his features. Did he expect her to bail? To not show up when she, technically, is still his apprentice? He hasn’t severed the apprenticeship yet and it’s not as if Harry would ever be the one to call it off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve brought everything for the Polyjuice, though I’m not sure-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Potter.” Snape’s sharp snap cuts Harry off mid-sentence, her lips still parted slightly around the words she was going to form. “Your Polyjuice wore off.” Her Polyjuice- Oh. Right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost self-consciously, Harry lifts one hand to her cheek, running the edge of her thumb across the curve of her malar, the knuckle of one finger catching on the flower from Leo she’d tucked behind her ear again. Just until she gets a set of hair clips after this session.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, there was only enough dosage wise to last the school year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll have a different face now.” She’s not quite sure if she’s supposed to hear Snape’s words there so Harry pretends ignorance, even as pleasure zings through her stomach. Snape is still under the assumption that Rigel is male which means he doesn’t think it’s her. That’s, that’s good. Her mental defences will feel different as a result of the ‘Harry layer’ that Dom is protecting and she’s got her aura just right too. With her wand changed, well, she only needs to ensure that she doesn’t give away even the smallest hint that could suggest she is actually Rigel Black.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I brewing the potion, Master Snape?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I only require your recipe and to watch you begin. I will take over shortly after to ensure it works as you say it does. From there, we will pass the potion on to be certified, though I doubt this will ever be allowed to sell commercially.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well of course not.” Harry scoffs at the very idea, shaking her head as she measures out three portions of fluxweed. “That would be incredibly irresponsible. The potential for sabotage and fraud is extraordinary. I could see the aurors using it for high-risk assignments or when they need to go undercover, but other than that? No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am well aware of the implications of your potion, Miss Potter,” Snape drawls, watching her select a bundle of knotgrass. “Which is why we are going to claim to the press that the method cannot be replicated without Rigel Black.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What.” Harry doesn’t stumble, doesn’t stop brewing because she is too much of a professional to do so. Her eyes do find Snape’s though, expression hard. “It’s my recipe. Rigel-” Harry pauses, fortifying herself in order to continue. “-the only point Rigel was involved was as the inspiration. He recognised what a delicate position he was putting himself in and knew he needed to disappear and never be found if the ruse was ever discovered. His face is gone now.” It’s gone, she is officially Harriet Potter once again and Archie can wear his own face too, even though he’s now taken to twisting his own features back and forth just because he can finally show off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am well aware of your claim to the recipe. However, the absence of my wayward student ensures that we can claim to the press that no one can replicate it without both a delicate hand for potions and an overwhelming amount of magic. This potion has an astronomical potential for carnage, Miss Potter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right… will I still get credit with the Guild?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are few who would doubt your credibility in regards to potions at this moment in time,” Snape drawls, his eyes following her hands as she completes the four turns counter-clockwise. “It is for that reason, despite your shaky legal standing, that I have decided to retain you as an apprentice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“…it’s because you think I can contact Rigel, right?” Harry cuts right to the heart of it and sees the moment her barb strikes true, sees the storm build behind Snape’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He can’t run forever. It is not in Rigel’s nature to leave well alone, no matter the face he wears now. The marriage law he tried so hard to halt was pushed through and I doubt he will stop until he has fixed the fault he perceives as his own. You are aware, Miss Potter, that had this law not come into effect before your ruse was exposed, you would have been prosecuted with far more prejudice.” Yes, Harry is well aware of just how neatly things were timed in that regard. As Archie’s fiancée, they’d had to treat her equally to the true Black Heir, even though she doesn’t doubt Riddle would have liked to have seen both of them smote where they stood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, she’s not sure how he dares to be angry about it when he himself is a halfblood. His idiotic ideals to save the purebloods from their own idiocy is hardly the right way to go about it, segregating the muggleborns from the community until they’ve bred among themselves enough to be considered technically pure; what lunacy. The whirlwind that is passing through her brain does force one key point to forefront of her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master Snape… Rigel shared almost every aspect of the life he lived at Hogwarts with myself and Archie. Since he won the Tournament, you’re no longer bound to the SOW party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am bound to the SOW party,” Snape growls, aura darkening with his fury, “by the worry that Lord Riddle will skin Rigel when he pins the boy down. Trust me, Miss Potter, I am exactly where I need to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s not. She wants to say it, to explain to her professor that he is free, that Rigel will never get caught as long as she can slide totally back into her life as Harriet Potter. For as long as Harry walks around, there will never be Rigel. His existence is gone, along with all the ties he’d made.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can’t say it; the words won’t pass through her lips. Because it is one thing to be an accessory to a crime, to be aware of it and have brewed a potion for it. But, to be the one who had actually committed the crime? That is a different matter entirely and, as much as she respects Snape, she isn’t sure that he would protect her secret. No matter how close he holds his mentorship to Rigel, the fact that she has been lying boldly to his face since day one in both of her personas may be too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, she turns back to the potion that is now in the first of multiple simmers, smoothing out the parchment that holds her recipe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, is that what Rigel would have wanted you to do?”</span>
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  <span>“All ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the day of the Gala and Harry picks uncomfortably at the neckline of her dress, quite unable to help the frown on her face. Archie had indeed given ‘Harry’ more buxom curves than she’d get on his first guess, though there’s still room for growth. When he had, shrunk them down, so to speak, back at the Yule Ball… well, that form hadn’t been too far off after all. Only a slight difference. It’s still shocking to see such evident feminity on her own body. The Polyjuice must have suppressed more of her than she’d first predicted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if sensing the blood in the air, James descends on her like a manticore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you wanna get changed before we go, Harry? We can afford to be a little late if you want to change into something with a higher neckline.” His whispered ‘please, Merlin, change into something with a higher neckline’ is probably not for her ears, but it drums a smile up onto her face regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, Dad. No worse than what I wore for the Yule Ball, after all.” She still has to pay Archie back for that one. Because he’d rocked up in that ensemble, people would be expecting something similar from her here, even if they’d managed to deduce that Archie was actually the one at the Yule Ball. Regardless, no one would have the guts to ask if it were actually Archie given the very… womanly curves ‘Harry’ had been boasting at the celebration. Harry’s options, therefore, had been simple. She could go with something a bit more her style and emasculate her cousin, or stem the rumours before they start. And, after all the trouble she has caused for Archie throughout the years, it is only fair she takes one for the team on this occasion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look stunning, Harry.” Lily chirps as she spins into the room, as if she doesn’t draw the eye in her own green gown. It’s in a darker shade than Harry’s, more appropriate for a married woman than the pale shade Harry is sporting. Both of their dress-robes (that edge far closer to actual dresses than real robes) reach past the knee, but not an awful lot further. Lily wears jewellery though, her bracelet and a necklace Harry suspects to be new, given she has never seen it before. Harry has none of that; bracelets and rings would only get in the way when brewing and she’s never really considered a necklace. Or earrings. Perhaps in the future she may, if it were to be as useful as the disc of obsidian Lily had made her during the Triwizard Tournament. She certainly wouldn’t say no to another one of those.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Mum. I get it from you.” Lily smiles, scooping Addy up from where she’s been luxuriating on Harry’s favourite chair. Her little sister blinks once, hazel eyes scrutinising Harry before she settles comfortably against her mother’s shoulder, letting out a low little yawn. Harry watches her sister drop off into the land of nod enviably. She has to go the Gala, has to assess the current situation if she wants to have any hope of keeping her secret intact. That, and Archie is going. Into that snake-pit Riddle rules over and she wouldn’t put it past the man to try interrogating her cousin, despite the sealing curse. He can’t get around it, Harry is relatively sure. But she wants to be on hand, just in case. Archie is no dueller and Harry would rather expose herself as Rigel than allow her cousin to come to any harm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if this dress may present itself as a monstrous obstacle for duelling. On the plus side, she’d been able to hide her duelling knife and a moleskin pouch full of potions in the excess pockets of the skirt, so perhaps all is not lost. In fact, she rather thinks Leo would be very proud of her for going into what is now enemy territory as prepared as she could be.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They apparate to the Malfoy Estate, Lily with Addy and James with Harry. Not much has changed from her last visit; the grounds are still immaculate, the peacocks still white, the mansion still a glimmering tribute to opulence. There’s only one other family ahead of them to be greeted, though Harry doesn’t recognise them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking into the Malfoy’s receiving entrance, she does find her eyes roving across the faces she can see beyond the corridor, searching for any familiar features. The Triwizard Tournament had been about settling the blood debate, true. But it had also brought them Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour, and Shang Feiyan. All purebloods by Britain’s dictionary; she wonders if she will see any of them here. Will there be a knock-on effect because of the tournament in that more foreign visitors will make their way here? Or will that be stemmed for the international embarrassment that was Rigel Black turning out to be a halfblood champion? Harry cannot bring herself to care too much for it beyond the implications it will have on the laws against her kind, against those that share her mother’s blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Potter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Malfoy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even during their first meeting, Harry has never seen the Malfoy lord so… wound up, like a spring pressed too hard; it seems like he’s a mere mote of pressure more from snapping. He is the SOW party’s right hand; she doesn’t doubt that he’s under a lot of pressure. Not as much as Riddle, but enough for Harry to feel a tad remorseful for what her actions have drawn out in her friend’s father. Former friend, she reminds herself with a grimace. His eyes find her, irises cold, before he swiftly performs a double take.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry’s Polyjuice has worn off,” James quickly interjects, no doubt seeing the way Narcissa’s own mouth had popped open in blatant surprise of her features. One of his hands rests upon the curve of her bare shoulder, giving a gentle, supportive squeeze but Harry doesn’t allow herself to fall into it as she wants to. It would be nice, to hide behind James, to let him be the shield he so clearly sees himself as for the rest of their family. But Harry has created her own mess and it is up to her to ensure those closest to her do not get caught up in it. Today, the number one priority is keeping Archie away from Riddle. Not because the man could ever pry the secret from him, but she certainly wouldn’t put it past the other to harm her cousin in some undetermined way. One only needs to look his track record (the sleeping sickness, the basilisk, the Triwizard Tournament and whatever the hell he’d been planning for when he got his hands on Dom) to know that for sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I made it so we would take a new batch every year to account for changes in appearance,” Harry explains, forcing her hands to remain still and innocent by her sides; fidgeting is, after all, one of the key indicators there’s a truth hiding there. Lucius sniffs, something that, if they weren’t in polite company, could be close to a scowl crossing his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it appears that may aid you in your future endeavours, Miss Potter,” Narcissa offers delicately, covering for the fact that Draco has yet to truly stand by her side, too busy burning holes into Harry’s cranium. She knew before she even arrived; she’d known she’d see Draco and that there was a good chance he’d hate her. It doesn’t make accepting the look currenting residing on his face any easier. He’d known Rigel had secrets, he’d known Rigel couldn’t tell him everything. But she doesn’t doubt this kind of deception had never even crossed his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cannot let the guilt consume her features, cannot give them even the slightest hint that Rigel resides beneath her skin. Yes, she is sorry she hurt Draco so badly. But, weighing up the emotional hurt that has struck her best friend against what will happen to Archie (and a lesser extent, to her) if their ruse is ever discovered tempers her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry will just have to live with that regret for the rest of her halfblood life. And speaking of halfblood life, she knows exactly what foul topic Narcissa has decided to refer to. She can respect the woman’s determination to mask her son’s hurts, even if it means forcibly exposing what may well be one of Harry’s tender spots. If she knew Harry at all, that is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am already betrothed to Archie, Lady Malfoy.” She accompanies the declaration with a bow, the proper dip to so deference to a lady of higher social standing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blacks are known for their wandering eye, you might want to get looking.” Harry doesn’t flinch, but it is a close call from the venom laced in Draco’s voice. She wonders what he feels when he looks at her; she has Dom fortifying her mind to the highest degree, so perhaps emotions don’t even slip free. For all Draco knows, Heiress Potter could be feeling insecure with her new face and his barb has struck true. He’ll never know its because he was once her friend, now flinging hurtful words her way. He’s angry, it’s to be expected that he’ll lash out, Draco has always been the more emotional of the two of them, not that such a thing was hard when she’d had to keep a tight leash on her every action.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she can formulate an appropriate response, or her father can swell with righteous fury over the insult to both Archie and her, or even before Narcissa can correct her son, they’re interrupted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Halfblood.” And the title startles a laugh out of her because this isn’t another Rigel issue to deal with, it isn’t another desperate attempt to cover up her double life. This is Lestrange, unbelievably swanning in to rescue her though, she doesn’t doubt that, had he known she was in need of rescue, he’d have left her to flounder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caelum comes to a stop by their small group, utterly unashamed by the title he has addressed her with, even as he snaps off a bow that is far too informal to his aunt and uncle to be counted as anything but rude, no more than a dip of the head in truth. He doesn’t even acknowledge Draco, instead locking eyes with her… for a mere moment. She sees the second her unfamiliar features register in the way his gaze snaps for her head to her toes and back again, frown growing a little more pronounced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been exceptionally ignorant in our correspondence, to the point I’ve had to resort to cornering you at a respectable Gala, all in order to inform you about the vast array of improvements I’ve made to you neat little potioneering trick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vast array?” Harry repeats, turning all her attention on Caelum, a desert-wanderer seeking the oasis and shelter from the sandstorm to her back all at once. “I’m flattered you’ve spent so much of your time reviewing my work, Caelum.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not friends, Potter. Just potioneers about to have a professional discussion,” Caelum doesn’t quite snarl, would probably proclaim himself too well bred to produce such a sound, but the tone is there regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of responding to him, Harry turns her attentions back to the Malfoys and her own family, determinately ignoring her father’s steadily reddening face and the way Lucius’ cool eyes are measuring the space between herself and Lestrange as if he’s re-evaluating her worth. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go have a discussion with my fellow potioneer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James opens his mouth to say something but Lily’s there, clasping one of his hands in her free one and Harry is sure she doesn’t imagine the slightly wince to her father’s form. Her mother’s eyes meet hers for the shortest of moments before she turns back to the Malfoys, leaving Harry to trot alongside Lestrange as he begins making his way to the ballroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More travel seems to have served you well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you on about, brat?” Lestrange grunts, pausing at the entrance to the ballroom to run his eyes across the new curves and lines of her face. Harry gives him a moment to become accustomed to it because, well, she can’t quite blame him. Even now, near a week on, there’s times when she will catch sight of her own reflection out of the corner of her eye and end up flinching at the sight of it. Her eyes are still painfully green, like a photograph that has been charmed extra vibrant only they’re doubtlessly real. Yet, it’s a by-product of her mother’s wild magic, a part of who she is. Harry Potter, Heiress Potter with eyes as green as- what was it Pansy had said all those years ago? Something to do with snake scales. Well, it’s an apt description, even if she can’t admit to speaking Parseltongue anymore. Another thing she and Riddle have in common, it seems.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your travels with Master Whitaker; have you become more tolerant and empathetic towards the unfamiliar yet, or is it just me?” At that, Lestrange does snort, then sneers at his own reaction. As he formulates his own response, Harry allows herself to finally look around the ballroom, taking in the sights and the sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a great deal of people milling about, more than she’s ever seen at a summer Gala before. But, then again, the political upheaval means everyone is clambering to find new footing. In fact, Harry’s relatively sure she can see Neville Longbottom, of all people, out there with his parents. Just like that, finding one familiar face has her searching for more. Blaise’s dark hair, Millicent’s tall form, Pansy’s blonde hair. It’s like a sucker punch to the chest and Harry tampers it, pushes it down and away into the box that belongs to Rigel. She’s Harry Potter who has only ever spoken to most of these people once and been insulted by them both directly and indirectly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m retracting my offer to refer you for permanent transfigurations, Brat. You clearly deserve that face if you’re going to attempt to force Pureblood features onto yourself with some bastardized variation of Polyjuice, nevermind whatever you’ve done to your eyes.” Caelum sneers, his pace neither swift or slow but perfectly even with her own. Harry cocks her head back to look up at him, lips pursing as she considers his too pretty face. Can he refer her because she’s the one that fixed up whatever terribly inbred flaws he’d been born with? No, she doubts that’s the case; if he had that kind of procedure lurking in his own past, he certainly wouldn’t let her close to the person who’d performed it in case she found out the truth. Most likely, Lestrange was just born pretty. He doesn’t deserve that smile of his. She wouldn’t be surprised to find that he’d gotten the surly attitude to prevent that smile from blooming too often.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have Potter features and I haven’t done anything to my eyes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t try to play me, Potter. They’re so green you cannot pass them off an ordinary characteristic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you implying my eyes are extraordinary?” Harry purrs, pulling on one of Rispah’s faces. She’s actually been practicing these now, watching her new features distort in the mirror until she’d regained the efforts of all that hard work Leo’s cousin had put her through. This one is that coy look the woman had taught her not long after learning she was a girl, the one that had ensnared Leo for a breath or two. It’s far more mature than the sweet, innocent thing she’d once developed with Archie. Yet, perhaps it’s time she starts applying it, what with the whole ‘Harry Potter is her own person and most certainly not Rigel Black’. This, after all, is not a look that Rigel would have ever felt the need to wear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caelum stares at her, his lips parted ever so slightly before he scowls, looking away and scanning the crowds, as if searching for witnesses to his momentary lapse. The tips of his ears are red. “Stop that. It’s utterly derisory and I am way out of your league.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not according to Riddle’s new law, you’re not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As if my mother would ever allow the Lestrange line to breed with filthy halfbloods.” There’s no heat to Caelum’s words, no matter how she would have expected a retort like this to have slipped free from between his lips. In fact, it almost sounds… rehearsed. No, not rehearsed, it’s someone else’s line. Bellatrix, if she were the guess. In the handful of instances that Harry has been in the same proximity as the other woman, she’s never once taken her for someone who feels the need to repeat herself. It’s clear she’s brought (dragged?) Caelum up with the same values she holds to heart. For her to have given Caelum something to quote-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The discussion with Riddle, the confrontation about ways to save the Old Lines even if it damns a generation-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry lowers her voice as she takes a half step closer to Lestrange, collecting a glass from a passing waiter that she hopes holds something non-alcoholic, asking “Has Lord Riddle tried to influence your parents to comply with the law?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the way blue eyes snap to her quicker than Harry can cut through bloodroot, she’d say she’s put the quaffle through the hoop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you even know-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rigel told me everything before the ruse was up,” she cuts him off, sipping at her drink (mango juice, of all things) and scanning their surroundings for the man in question. She would have expected him to be out on the floor, schmoozing up to all the people he needed to in order to recover his party’s integrity. But she can’t see him. Perhaps he’s still licking his metaphorical wounds and letting the Malfoys smooth things over? “The whole reason he was part of the tournament is because he came to an agreement with Riddle; if he won, the SOW party would drop the marriage legislation and others like it. Riddle just managed to push it through before it ended.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And before the halfblood bastard wrecked the whole party’s stance by revealing himself,” Caelum concludes, his eyes narrowed, accepting a drink of what she’s relatively sure is elfin wine and downing it far too quickly to be actually drinking it. Harry’s eyes slip down to inspect his jugular but his muscles aren’t contracting; vanishing the liquid again. She supposes if there are enough eyes on them and they keep talking, then he can offer the excuse he was a tad tipsy and didn’t realise his company was so unsavoury. It’d ruin the ‘good at holding his liquor’ reputation he’s been aggressively peddling though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t actually part of the plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a miracle you’re not in Azkaban for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luckily, Riddle’s insistence on the marriage law getting through actually saved my skin there. Makes it that little bit sweeter, actually. I’ll fill you in on all the Rigel stuff later, let me cover what I know about the law as a whole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who says I’m willing to listen to whatever lies that pureblood pretender fed you?” Caelum doesn’t meet her eyes, too busy looking around the crowd, absentmindedly depositing his empty glass on a passing tray. Harry takes another sip of her own drink while she waits for his attention to return to her, all the while aggressively blocking out the fact she can see Pansy talking to Millicent and- is that Abbott with Blaise over there? “But, I suppose information that is leading people astray is still good to know, even if it is false.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Harry tells him. The conclusions both she and Riddle have come to about the Fade (though she leaves Hermione’s name out of it; something tells her Lestrange won’t trust the work of a muggleborn) and the future generations of Purebloods, the steps he’s tried putting in place already by encouraging homosexual relationships and how they’ve made little impact. The conclusive data that indicated one generation of purebloods at the least needed to ‘lay back and think of England’ as the halfbloods had their wicked way with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you have to put that so crassly!” Lestrange hisses, a scowl on his face and Harry doesn’t bother to hide her own smirk, giving a little shrug of her shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the truth of the matter. That’ll be why Riddle is trying to get all the members of the SOW party around to his way of thinking; as far as he’s concerned at the moment, it’s marry-in the halfbloods, or there’ll be no purebloods in a few generations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And there’s nothing else that can be done?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“… I’m not sure. I’ve started looking into it, but there’s barely any data and no one ever wants to talk about their own personal experience regarding the Fade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caelum’s jaw clenches, head angled up sharply and away from her. It can’t be that her presence disgusts him; he’d have left without a care for hurting her feelings (not that he’s really capable of that anymore). Which means he’s considering her words. She knows there’s a brain in there somewhere; Lestrange is a good potioneer so he’s not got a head full of hot air. Perhaps consistent exposure to her no-nonsense attitude could inspire him to think a little more outside of the box.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll look through our books for any personal accounts,” he proposes, though it comes out as if she’s pulling a premolar from his jaw as opposed to him actually gifting it up by his own free will. That’s, that’s a hell of a lot more than she’d thought any heir would have offered out. “But I want to be kept up to date on what you are doing. In fact, now that I am a full-fledged apprentice, I can book a room at the Guild. We’ll meet there; I don’t doubt your solution will be potions orientated and we will work on this together, Potter. This shape imbueding you’ve created has opened up a whole new field. Now that I’m deigning to work with you, there’s every chance we might actually make some progress on this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Has she stepped into the twilight zone or something? An alternate dimension?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you under Polyjuice?” Harry asks, peering at Lestrange’s dress robes but they’re a little too form fitting to be able to hide a flask. Not unless he’s got a slim vial on him and, given Caelum is a potioneer like her, if someone has accosted him and taken his place, a thin vial isn’t outside the realm of possibility. As her companion opens his mouth, beautiful face twisting in a way she’s certain no one other than Caelum could manage, Harry cuts in again, “Compulsion then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be asinine, Potter. If you think you’re skilled enough to tackle a problem this big, then it is only right I point you in the correct direction.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry opens her mouth to continue, her glass of juice having disappeared and she’s not quite sure at what point in their conversation she’d put it down, but an entirely different sound catches her attention instead. Music.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With alarm, Harry whips her head around to realise, with horror, that she’s standing almost dead centre in the ballroom alongside Lestrange. They must have wandered here while they were talking and now, they can’t get to the edge without making it blatantly obvious that they’ve no intention of dancing and thus, presenting themselves as fools.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Lestrange whispers and Harry is taken back to that day in Dartmoor Castle, his parents arriving home early and unplanned. She remembers how her heart had felt in her chest, racing like a rabbit. How surprisingly adept at sneaking Lestrange had proven himself to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Harry doesn’t have to sneak here; people are already well aware she’s willing to buck social niceties given the ‘Rigel Ruse’ she’s been involved in. It’ll hardly impact her any more if she just walks through all the dancing couples.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Potter, give me your hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t be serious.” It turns out Caelum is indeed very serious. In the moment it takes for her to turn around to face him, he’s caught one of her hands and placed it correctly on his upper arm, the other clasped in his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t have you showing me up, halfblood. It’s bad enough we’ve been caught in this, I won’t have you making a mockery of me by walking off. If anyone asks, I’ve used this opportunity to grill you for information.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could have done that without dancing,” Harry points out, even as she falls into step with him. Caelum leads well, though she wouldn’t have expected anything else of him. It’s blatantly evident he’s used to spearheading most social interactions, confident that they will follow his every instruction if only because they don’t dare stand up to him. She’s the only one, as far as she’s aware, that has ever stood up to him. It’s even easier to tell he’s never been teased by anyone before; his clamorous reactions make that clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She steps on the tip of one foot, just to hear his hiss in irritation, sweeping her out into a spin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s when she spots Riddle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dom. Tell me he can’t sense the magic.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>He can’t sense the magic. It’s bucking in its prison, but I’ve ensured it’s buried so deep in your magic with a reflective element that he won’t be able to sense it even if you make physical contact.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ Right. That’s good. Especially given the fact she can feel his eyes burning into her shoulders. Why is he looking at her? True, he’s hardly the only one given she’s a halfblood that’s dancing with the Lestrange Heir. It shouldn’t be enough to catch Riddle’s attention though, should it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, she can remember Snape’s warning that Riddle had tried to separate her and Rigel, right up until he realised, they were a package deal. So, she can conclude that he’s been looking into how she could support his party then, back when he’d been under the assumption that bringing Rigel into the fold would drag her in too. Hadn’t Caelum mentioned something to that effect in his letter? A friend of his father’s, interesting in her brewing technique? As if she hadn’t enough problems with him looking to her for information about Rigel, he’s interested in her potions making abilities now?</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their dance comes to an end after only one more opportunity to step on Lestrange’s toes and make it look like an accident. Given the furious embers that light his eyes, he’s well aware her last mis-step had been completed on purpose and that he’s well past his limit for social niceties. Harry’s not sure if the fact they’re now at the edge of the ballroom is a miraculous happenstance or a result of careful planning on Lestrange’s part. Either way, he takes the opportunity to release her into the masses, stalking off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he forgets about his promise of looking through his family’s archives, she’ll send him a letter as a reminder. Having Lestrange join in on the Fade investigation hadn’t exactly been the end result she’d expected of their interaction here, but it’s not unwelcomed. You don’t really get much purer than the Lestranges, discounting the Blacks, that is. And with Archie already helping Hermione spearhead this movement, they’ve long since exhausted any chronicles there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you forgotten all the footwork I taught you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha- Leo?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if she could ever mistake his voice for another’s. Yet, here he is, the King of Thieves himself, right in the middle of high society and even dressed for it. Though she doesn’t miss the outline of dagger he has near completely concealed within the pocket of his robes. The dark red fabric is offset by the golden thread woven in, ensuring his tanned skin and bright eyes stand out that little bit more. Despite having adhered to the dress code, he still doesn’t look like he belongs here. He’s lacking that false layer most of high society seem to drape themselves in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Harry.” He offers her a gamely bow, textbook pureblood and Harry can only numbly return the gesture, still trying to come to terms with the fact the Rogue of the Lower Alleys is actually in the Malfoy ballroom. The absurdity of it hits her and Harry laughs, doesn’t even attempt to stem the noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is a rogue like you doing in a place like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I was considering going for the old Robin Hood vibe, robbing from the rich, giving to the poor; how many of the golden candlesticks do you think I can fit up my sleeves?” Leo pauses, inspecting his short-sleeved attire before offering her a smile worthy of his rapscallion nature. “Might have to tie them to my shins, come to think of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, Robin Hood often gets a kiss from the damsel in distress and you were looking rather distressed, getting caught in the centre of the ballroom with your pretty little lordling.” Against her will, Harry feels her lips twitching up despite herself. Because she’s pretty certain her look of horror would have been a picture to see. If it’d been Archie in an awkward position like that, then she’d have laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leo smiles back at her, all the roguish charm the King of the Lower Alleys should possess, even if the backdrop is all wrong. It feels like her two very segregated worlds are all of a sudden colliding and it is far worse than Hermione stumbling into the Lower Alleys last year. She doesn’t know why Leo’s here but it cannot be good. He wouldn’t leave the Alleys unless he had to; his sense of responsibility is too strong, especially with the attacks that’re bubbling up down there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snape is already aware of her link to Leo, has seen them out and about. If he’s still working alongside Riddle as he had hinted during their meeting at the Guild on Monday, then there’s every chance he’s reporting back his findings to the hypocritical bastard leading the SOW movement. Leo’s good, powerful in his own right. But there’s a very different type of power to Riddle and Harry doesn’t want him anywhere near the Lower Alleys, nevermind Leo himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, Leo. Why are you here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dance with me, and I’ll tell you.” Harry hates dancing. She hates being out and having to remember the steps, even if it is Leo walking her through them. The Yule Ball had been bad enough; true, her dance with Archie hadn’t been a bore, but she’d been distinctly aware of everyone spinning around the two of them and how inadequate they must have looked beside them. Yet, Leo wouldn’t be here without a good reason, especially because anything could happen in the Lower Alleys right now; neither Scar or Claw have been caught and with the attacks-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine… my dad wouldn’t happen to be watching, would he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think he’s stopped watching you since you and your pretty lord ended up in the middle of the dancefloor. We have now, however, presented him an entirely new target from where he’s been burning holes into your friend’s head.” Leo winks, whisking her out onto the dancefloor with far more confidence than any other partner she’s ever had. Perhaps it’s because they duel so often together that he’s got an idea of how to move? It’s certainly the reason why she can read him so easily. “And, in answer to your question, I’m officially her because my pa was invited, given the family’s still in the Book of Bronze and he’s the Aldermaster of the Potions Guild.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And unofficially?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And unofficially,” Leo continues with a grin, increasing the pace of his footwork and Harry grits her teeth, doing her best to keep up. It’s just her luck that this dance is one of the very few where the participants can work at a slow pace or a fast pace. And trust Leo to pick the faster pace. “I’m here as the Rouge undercover. Whatever politics happen in your world, Harry, usually end up trickling down to ours. During the last attack, I spotted some wizards in black.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s head snaps up from where she’d been looking at their feet, teeth sinking into the flesh of her lip. It’s a good thing Lily had charmed them a soft red instead of going for the paste, otherwise it’d have all come off by now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wizards in black? Like-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like the quidditch cup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that chilling confirmation, Leo spins them again, drawing them a little closer together and lowering his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The whole tournament, coupled with the legalisation that the SOW party has hammered through in recent months has caused unrest in the Alleys. There’s something bubbling up here and you know when there’s one chemical reaction in the top layer-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It can cause the whole thing to explode,” Harry concludes with a frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly.” Leo slows his steps, snaking them a little closer to the edge of the ballroom as the music begins to wind down. “I need to keep an eye on it, but obviously I can’t be away from my people for too long.” He bows over their joined hands, that same roguish grin on his face even as his eyes scan the crowd. “I mean, it would be incredibly helpful if I could seduce a one of the princess types here to help out, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to ask, Leo,” Harry interrupts, forcibly ignoring his choice of words. “I’ll keep you up to date with everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Harry. Gotta go, looks like my pa is looking for me.” And just like that, he disappears into the crowd, as if the gathering of lords and ladies is nothing more than the usual ruckus of Diagon. Harry watches him go with a frown because Leo didn’t have a problem with her speaking to his father before, but now he does?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who was that one, Harry?” Sirius’ hand clamps down on her shoulder, a wide, charming grin on his face. It doesn’t quite disguise the strain behind his features and Harry wonders if Regulus has caught up to his elder brother yet. She doesn’t doubt the younger Black brother will have a few choice words on this whole Rigel mess. In fact, scrap that. She’s relatively certain he’ll have a whole epic speech for Sirius planned, no doubt dragging Sirius, Archie, Rigel and even herself through the mud. If she were a good niece, she’d stick to Sirius like glue and take the brunt of it for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Archie will need her support more, especially now that she’s placed one of the faces in the crowd as Riddle, though the politician seems to have blended back into the masses since. That, in and of itself, is more worrisome than anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was Leo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was Leo?!” Sirius repeats at a volume that, while completely normal in their household, is far too loud for a shindig such as this. People stare but, as per usual, Sirius doesn’t care. His head whips back and forth, neck craning and- Harry looks down –he’s balancing up on his tiptoes. Trying to place him. “He’s a good-looking lad, isn’t he? Not that I’m surprised, given the whole celestial lion name he’s got going on.” Sirius pauses in his search to grin at her, clamping both hands on her upper arms and giving her the once over. “And I’m not surprised he wanted a dance. Best go introduce myself before your dad manages to get him alone in the corridor or something. Don’t want any questions about James’ dedication to upholding the law and all that.” And then he’s off. Sirius meanders through the crowds effortlessly, stopping every so often to rise up onto his tiptoes and peruse the multitude of heads, as if Leo’s wearing a hat that proclaims him to be, how did Sirius put it? A celestial lion?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snorting, Harry turns to her own search, looking for Archie among the throngs of people. This, she supposes, is one of the good things about her cousin being particularly tall. He shouldn’t be hard to spot.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-0</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>[AbAbAb]</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>-0</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bidding Madam Marchbanks a fond farewell after reassuring her that, yes, it had indeed been himself and his dear cousin Harriet Potter who’d saved the life of her close friend last year, Archie turns his attentions upon the rest of the hall, pushing down the nervous flutters that are flittering about in his stomach. He’s been to a Gala before, it’s hardly the most difficult thing he’s had to do. Keeping that damn pig alive during his second year had been the most physically taxing thing he’d ever done, while the most mentally challenging thing had been his placement at one of the local wizarding hospitals, having to tell a patient that their disease was terminal. That- that one had been hard. It’d brought up memories that struck far too close to home. That’d been back before he’d had the mirror to converse with Harry. It’d been one of the points that had brought Hermione closer to him, that night when she’d stayed up with him despite the looming exam season, comforting him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Black.” Shit, that’s him. He’s stills sort of used to getting ‘Potter’, even though the ruse has been up for well over a month now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Malfoy and Parkinson, along with the others of that group. Bulstrode and…. Zabini? He’s pretty certain it’s them, thinks he recognises them from the only other Gala he has attended under his own name. But time changes people and it has been a couple of years since he stood here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re all well dressed, not that he’d have expected anything else of them. Malfoy clearly favours lighter colours, no doubt because anything dark or vibrant would drain his pale features even further. It’s a good choice and he does look good in it. Parkinson’s soft blue dress matches her eyes, makes her look almost fairy-like. Not as pretty as Harry though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And hadn’t that been a surprise? It’s clear his cousin has allowed Aunt Lily to grow her hair out a little more; she’d never have managed to put it into that up-do without doing so (and yes, he has been experimenting with his hair length; five weeks on house arrest is a long time and he can only spend so much of it as a fox napping in the garden). He hadn’t been the only one surprised that Harry had actually danced; he hadn’t even known she was on such good terms with Lestrange? Well, perhaps good terms is a bit of a stretch given how the other had all but stormed away from the dance floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not surprised in the slightest that Leo had swept in for a dance though; he’d clocked the other boy the second he and Sirius had arrived, surprised but pleased to see a familiar face. A familiar face that he can say is definitely friendly, that is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, Malfoy et al. are familiar. But he doesn’t dare assume they’re friendly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Malfoy.” He offers the other a dip of his head, addressing the other three by name too and Archie does his best not to preen with the fact he got them right straight off the bat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Rigel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blaise!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see no need to dance around the dragon; it’s the only reason we’re talking to Black.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, harsh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The four Slytherins (Harry’s friends, he needs to keep that in mind as he deals with them but to also not give away the slightest hint that Rigel is Harry or Harry is Rigel, urgh, whatever) all turn their attention back to him and Archie pulls out the good old Black charm, meeting the eyes of Bulstrode and Parkinson as he smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wherever Rigel is, it’s certainly absent the stars in the sky; you both shines as if you’ve hidden them within your eyes. No doubt he wishes to gaze upon you as much as he does the celestial bodies that my family and I are graciously named after. How lucky he was to spend every day in your presence,” Archie said, dipping his head and injecting his best try for sorrowful regret into his tone as he turns to answering their question. “I’m afraid it was always the plan that, should the ruse come to an end, it is best that Rigel fade into obscurity. For his own good health, you must understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You knowingly aided a halfblood to Hogwarts, helped him break the law and he played us all for fools,” Malfoy growls, tilting his head back and peering down the straight, pointed slope of his nose. And wow, the guy’s glare is like a battering ram, all blunt force to showcase his displeasure. How the hell had Harry managed to make friends with this guy?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And in doing so, saved your life,” Archie points out. The Slytherins go still, Malfoy’s face paling a little and Archie draws himself up to his full, not metamorphmagi-enchanted height. “You’d have died if Rigel hadn’t saved you from that sleeping sickness, right? Even if we’d known we’d be found out, me, Harry and Rigel wouldn’t have hesitated to go through with it; just think of all the people that were helped because of it, all the deaths that were avoided. None of you would have been able to deal with a basilisk, would you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, we do owe Rigel a debt,” Parkinson admits, her expression close to a baby unicorn and, if Harry hadn’t been informed of the fact there’s more to her than there is on the surface, he might have fallen for it. “Do you have any way we can contact him? Just to make sure he’s okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I’ve got nothing. And, even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to share. Sealing curse, you know?” Shrugging his shoulders, Archie meets each of their gazes with his best, sympathetic smile. He’s a healer, he’s had to practice that one a lot in the last few years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, we just continue our lives now? There’s really nothing we can do?” Bulstrode asks quietly, the first to look away from him and Archie, he feels pretty bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess you should do as Rigel wanted… I know it tore him up to know he was lying to you. And he trusted you guys so much, but he just couldn’t risk it. Not when telling you the truth would hurt me and Harry so much, given your political learnings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our political learnings?” His second cousin swells up again, nose scrunching and Archie wonders if the other boy can feel the guilt and regret that’s resting in his core. Because this next one? Yeah, it’s gonna be a low blow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah. Look at how you reacted to, er, Greengrass, right?” All four stop and Archie takes that as a sign to continue. “She was at Hogwarts and didn’t know she was a halfblood. Obviously Rigel, who was knowingly posing as a pureblood, wouldn’t dare breathe a word after that, no matter how close you all got. He almost ran that day, hearing in the hallway that a halfblood had been discovered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Archie! There you are.” And there’s his dad, digging his knuckles into his head as he greets the four Slytherins. “You need to go rescue Harry, Pup, before James can corner her for a discussion on why so many boys are dancing with her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s only danced with two, hasn’t she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. Get going, Arch.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-0</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>[SsSsSs]</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>-0</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the amber.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing within the Malfoy ballroom (a location he most certainly does not want to be haunting but has little choice, given the absolutely shambles that the SOW party is in and his need to stick close), Severus watches the vast array of ignorant ingrates that make up society mingle with one another, as if their fancy party and socialising is all that matters. The basilisk that had threatened to strike down some of the heirs to the most prominent families had been dealt with by Rigel and here some of them stand, muttering to themselves how they should have thrown him out in first year. Never mind that, without Rigel, the potential deaths of many more heirs from the sleeping sickness may have occurred, what with Severus being stretched far and wide to make potions and find ingredients. Of course, this hadn’t been reported to their parents; only the Malfoys knew the true extent of Rigel’s influenced regarding those circumstances. Without that boy, more than one life could have ended that year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never mind the mess with Pettigrew; what if that degenerate had taken another student down there? While it is regrettable that it was Rigel taken, Severus can say with confidence that the boy would have been the only one with a chance of survival. Buried alive and held captive for two weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now that child is out in the world on his own, only four years of formal education behind him and a whole country on the hunt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is not without options, however. The French have made a blanket statement that they would accept the boy into their school, undoubtedly because of his impressive showing in the Triwizard Tournament. Ilvermorny had been quick to meet the offer, along with a statement from MACUSA agreeing to political refuge for the boy. Rigel would be a fool not to take it. And yet, two weeks have passed since and not one whisper has trickled through the grapevine that Rigel is in America. Against all assumptions otherwise, it appears the boy does genuinely intend to disappear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’d been Rigel who’d proposed adding the amber element to a potion in order to extend the effects. But-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter had used it in her recipe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter had created the (and by Merlin, he is going to have to work with her on how to properly name potions) Modified Polyjuice at least three years before Rigel had proposed the idea. All this time, has the boy just been feeding him more of Potter’s ideas? No, that can’t be right. He was too good at potions to just be putting forwards someone else’s work. Besides, Severus had seen him in action. He’d witnessed the boy free brewing; the talent isn’t falsified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the amber element is Potter’s idea. He’s sure of it; her recipe had explained it far too well for it not to be. Which opens the question; why had Potter allowed Rigel to submit it as his own?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can recall her willingness to teach him shape imbueing instead of aggressively defending her own idea, her decision not to patent the process or any of the potions she produces. Of course, that’s hardly a problem when only Severus and Potter herself can complete the process. And the young Lestrange too, he recalls. He’d asked the boy where he’d learnt the skill, away from his parents’ heavy-handed influences that is. Yes, he’d cornered the only Lestrange that is half-tolerable in the Guild, but he’d been curious when Whitaker had said the boy could do it. He’d learnt from Potter. Either the girl trusted Lestrange to not abuse his new knowledge (unlikely) or she just genuinely cared about furthering the field. A true academic, in every sense of the word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, that explains the reasoning why she would allow Rigel to submit the amber as his own idea. But it does not explain the necessity of the idea. To not be linked to her Modified Polyjuice? Too late for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how are you finding this party, Severus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Riddle.” Severus dips his head in acknowledgement, his eyes sweeping over the masses from his position in the corner, by the back wall. He can pick out the real Black and Potter, their features both far from what anyone here have since been used to. The girl’s eyes are searing, a green even more vivid than her mother’s. Unnatural, truly. Perhaps she had a potions mishap as a child. “It is as, riveting as always.” Having to schmooze and butter up reels of idiots who wouldn’t know their stirring rod from their wand is exactly how he wants to spend his night. It’s not as if he could be doing something more productive like, say, hunting down his wayward student. His venture into the depths of the Lower Alleys had been a bust; people had recognised the picture of Rigel, but not one person had been willing to say they’d seen him. They’d all been telling the truth; legilimency had informed him many had seen Harry Potter haunting their slums, but not one person had associated the face to Rigel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Riddle.” Ah. Regulus Black appears from the masses, dressed as resplendently as always. Another one of them who has been fooled by Rigel, though there’s no strong attachment there, not to anything other than the glory the boy had brought to the Black name, that is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Regulus. I believe you had something you wished to share?” As Regulus’ eyes flick over to Severus, the potion master supresses any indication of his emotions, keeping his face as perfectly blank as he possibly can. Lord Riddle follows his gaze and laughs, a low, dark thing. “Whatever you wish to share, Severus should be privy to it. He is, after all, our head-huntsman in the quest to find Rigel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. I had my suspicions during the Tournament; when Rigel performed the Fortis shield, I’d recognised that particular style.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? Well, any hints towards our slippery halfblood’s true origins would be appreciated.” Yes, from Lord Riddle’s tone, any hint that would give him a way to corner Rigel and undoubtedly make him suffer for the mockery he’d made of Riddle, the SOW party and the Triwizard Tournament as a whole. This is the exact reason Severus hasn’t disappeared into the Potions Guild to continue his academia lifestyle in peace the moment Rigel had been declared the winner. Because the boy so oft gets in over his head and he doesn’t trust adults to help him (though why would he, given he was a halfblood lying to all of them). Someone needs to look out for his best interests and, as his official master, that means that duty has fallen crisply upon Severus’ shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Lower Alleys held a free duelling tournament last summer-” They what?! “-and one of the contestants made a good showing. I found their use of the Fortis shield they ran in comparable to a battering ram. Imagine my surprise when Rigel demonstrated a similar method in his duelling tournament. I confronted him about it and the boy said he had seen it used over the summer. I dismissed it, but now-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would certainly explain why he was unphased by Antiope and her sword,” Lord Riddle agrees softly, a look of concentration crossing his features. This is yet another link to the Lower Alleys; Potter had spent her time there while Arcturus Black took her place at AIM; it would make perfect sense if Rigel were to swap out with Potter during the summer terms. That Rigel is skilled in free-duelling doesn’t surprise him; the boy seems to have made it his life’s mission to achieve the impossible, regardless of the fact he professed a desire to do nothing other than brew for the rest of his life. Nevermind the great boon of magic he’d been blessed with; only good to imbued more potions, as far as he was concerned. It’s almost laughable if it weren’t so infuriating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assume the boy did not go by Rigel in the Lower Alleys?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, many know him as Harry. No surname given; there were a fair few who recognised him by his face too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Potter and Rigel had shared the same face. It’s entirely possibly that Rigel would slip into the life in the Lower Alleys while Potter stepped back into her own over the holidays.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two children with innate affinities towards potions… Severus, tell me. How many children have you taught on Rigel’s level?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just Rigel himself.” He can hear where this is going before Lord Riddle says the words, the unbelievable thought popping into his own mind a mere breath before Riddle voices it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could it be that our two potions prodigies are, in fact, one single genius? Could Harriett Potter be the halfblood Rigel?” He considers it. And then discards it almost as quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Impossible,” Snape concludes, shaking his head. “Rigel’s mental defences differ greatly to Potter’s; just a quick skim is enough to discern that. Anyway, she has an aura.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Auras can be projected. Faked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her wand is elm. I saw it myself at the Guild just a few days ago and she wields it effortlessly.” Lord Riddle hums, though the sound is far from pleasant. More of an aggressive rumble from the back of his throat and Severus scans the crowds again, searching out Potter. It’s a ridiculous idea; he would have most certainly noticed if he was teaching the same child in two different disguises. The reputation Potter has built up in the Lower Alleys makes it abundantly obvious she’s been there for years. Her mental protections make it clear enough that they are two different entities; one cannot swap their fortifications out for another set when they so wish. If it could be done, he would have figured it out already. And-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If Potter were Rigel, would your magic not be reacting?” Severus says this lowly, beneath his breath. Regulus eyes the two of them suspiciously though, without proper context, he cannot understand what Severus refers to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Severus. If it were the case, I would be able to identify Potter as Rigel. Still,” Lord Riddle continues, eyeing the girl across the room as Hurst the younger joins the conversation she’s holding with the real Arcturus Black, “I do believe we haven’t exhausted this avenue just yet. When are you next due to meet the girl, Severus?” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm gonna go crawl back to my own fanfiction for a bit while I try figuring out what to do for a third chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <b>Key events from last chapter:</b>
  <br/>
</p>
<ul>- Caelum wrote a letter to Harry wanting to know what was happening.</ul><ul>- Harry's polyjuice wore off; James 'freaked'.</ul><ul>- Harry met up with Leo while visiting Tate's.</ul><ul>- Harry and Dom spoke about temporarily hiding her Parseltongue for the party. Harry comes up with the plan to hide her wand's appearance. Dom confirms he can hold Riddle's magic and not allow it to be noticed.</ul><ul>- Harry meets with Snape and starts the Modified Polyjuice for him &amp; hands over recipe. Snape says they'll claim it doesn't work without Rigel.</ul><ul>- At the Gala, Draco is rude, Caelum accidentally rescues her and they get trapped in a dance. Leo is also there, snooping for the Lower Alleys. Caelum also offers family info on the Fade.</ul><ul>- Archie is confronted by Rigel's old friends and sort of tells them off for the pureblood views.</ul><ul>- Lord Riddle, Snape &amp; Regulus compare notes on Rigel &amp; Harry. Riddle decides Harry's not given all the info she could yet.</ul>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, sorry for the wait. In my defense, I wanted to update some of my own fics? (then I had the delightful writing slump for the majority of July where I just couldn't write anything half decent)</p>
<p>Thank you to ergonomicfloor, Bluepeg, Meteor13 and Stars, who've checked over parts of this for grammar and spelling errors, of which I am sure there were far too many.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Rigel’s eyes are a stony silver, reflecting no light as he considers Harry, his face flat. It’s exactly how she’d seen it during the mirror a mere week ago; the same soft curves along the cheekbones, the same androgynous features she’d taken to calling her own. His head tilts to a side, mouth neutral.</p>
<p>“I am sorry about this, Harriet. But it’s too risky for me to keep it.”</p>
<p>Harry flexes her arms against the chair she’s bound to and it’s no good; the ropes hold tight and the ring she recognises from the previous year, the one Rigel had stopped wearing after the incident with Pettigrew, resides on her finger. There’ll be no rescue from wild magic now. Her potions bag is across the room (and she doesn’t know where she is, doesn’t recognise the location in the slightest) and her fingers can only scrape at the very edge of her pockets, not delve into them for the protection potion that resides in there. What could she even do anyway, flick it at him? It’s not like she can create a perfect circle or even a wobbly oval to keep herself safe. Especially when she knows he has the potion to lift it in his own bag. She eyes the bag in question that’s thrown over Rigel’s shoulder, teeth digging into the flesh of her lower lip.</p>
<p>“So, you’re just giving it away?” When in doubt, keep them talking, right? Hope and pray someone else will come to the rescue, that someone else will notice she’s missing and come over. It’s most likely going to be her parents or even Archie, but she can hope for Leo. Leo would be able to take Rigel in a duel, it’s where she’d picked up her own talents, and Rigel had never been able to beat him when they trained over summer.</p>
<p>“It’s too risky to keep it,” Rigel admits, running a hand through his hair and exhaling, the breath steady and slow. “I only had enough of the modified Polyjuice potion for another day in my stores, for emergencies like that day in Third year. I didn’t account for how the time-turner would affect things, so that’s why I kept a sample. It’s very helpful.” Rigel smiles, though it’s hardly the same one he used to wear. It’s… tired. He’s tired. There are dark smudges beneath the curves of his eyes, his skin paler than it’s ever been. Then again, there’s every chance he’d spent more time indoors, time hiding, than ever before. “I can’t risk my face changing back, but getting caught out by the Parseltongue anyway, not when…” Rigel opens his mouth, as if to keep talking before he lifts a hand to his throat, an expression on his face much alike to one choking.</p>
<p>“Look, you don’t have to-”</p>
<p>“Yes, I do,” Rigel cuts in, picking up a piece of chalk and kneeling on the ground as he starts to draw. Harry’s well aware that he’s studied both runes and alchemy, though she’s not too sure what it is he’s doing. “Needless to say, there are others who can speak it as well, people who are aware I have the gift. It was always in the back of my mind that I could get caught out with this, but luckily I came across something during my studies with the Headmaster.” Rigel looks up from the floor, a sad smile on his face as Harry glares back. “You probably won’t thank me for it, but you sacrificed a lot so that Archie could go to AIM. Even more so in order for Rigel Black to attend Hogwarts. I suppose you could consider this my thank you. All I ask is that you look after Treeslider for me… It’s probably better off if you’re asleep for this. Sorry, Harriet.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The memory cuts off there, throwing Harry, James and Dumbledore from the pensive. Sitting in the Headmaster’s office, Harry glances around the room and does her best to appear like she has never seen anything like it in her life. Which is quite true. She has, after all, never seen another place quite like Professor Dumbledore’s office. The strange collection of gizmos and gadgets, half of which are probably of his own invention, aren’t difficult to take an interest in. She’s never seen the Headmaster use any of them before, can only begin to guess at their use.</p>
<p>Her father’s low swear forces her attention back onto the adults in the room.</p>
<p>Dumbledore has meandered over to the window and now stands, staring out across the grounds that Harriet Potter has never gotten to see, nevermind walk. Were it not the summer holidays, not the only location of a pensive that can be accessed quickly and without any need to state their intentions of use, Harry doesn’t think James would have let her come at all. Perhaps he doesn’t want to show her what she could have had, had the world not been so unfair, so biased against her just for her mother’s blood. She cannot fault him; her father has no idea she’s spent four years studying here beneath a different face. She hadn’t expected to end up at Hogwarts again in all of this but… she’s glad they’re here.</p>
<p>‘<em>Did they accept it?</em>’</p>
<p>‘<em>Please, my skills in the mind are peerless. I can fake a memory to fool even the wisest of humans and this, at least, absolves me of having to guard and filter your gift. Truly, it was a stroke of genius.</em>’ Dom’s smug tones rumble through her mind and Harry tapers down the smile that wants to curl her lips, instead affecting her best expression of concern as she looks to James.</p>
<p>“So, I’m stuck with this?” she asks, watching James run a frustrated hand through his hair, knocking his glasses askew.</p>
<p>“Albus, there must be something we could do?”</p>
<p>“While it would be possible for Miss Potter to perform the line circumvention ritual herself, there would still be the case of needing another to pass the gift to, nevermind that it may also take whatever gifts Miss Potter herself possesses and transfer them to the intended recipient.” Dumbledore sighs, turning back to face them and looking a decade older. Guilt squirms inside Harry’s chest for a moment but she forcibly pushes it down, ignores it as best she can to focus on the here and now. She’s Harriet Potter, self-educated former-intern of the Potions Guild and she has nothing to feel guilty for right now. She’s the innocent one in this case who has suddenly had an unexpected gift thrust upon her.</p>
<p>“So, that’s it. My daughter’s a Parselmouth and there’s nothing I can do about it.”</p>
<p>“I’ll be able to get so much venom for potions now.” Both James and Dumbledore turn to stare at her. Harry smiles back, baby unicorn face of innocence as thick and believable as she can make it. “I’ll only have to go and speak to the snakes and they can give me venom; I’m gonna save so much money.” Her father shakes his head, somewhere between disbelief over her easy acceptance and exasperated by her typical potions-orienteered reaction.</p>
<p>Dumbledore claps his hands together, a smile on his face as his blue eyes twinkle behind the half-moon glasses. “Ah, youth and their abilities to look on the bright side of every happenstance. What a terrible world we live in that we must prosecute a young man for chasing nothing but his education.” From the look upon James’ face, he rather disagrees with Dumbledore over the idea of charging Rigel with solely lying about who he is, but no words pass his lips. Instead, they both wait for what Dumbledore is going to say next, given it is obvious that he is not yet finished. “While this has no doubt been a trying ordeal for you, Miss Potter, may I ask if you intend to honour Rigel’s last request?”</p>
<p>“The thing about looking after a Treeslider?” It’s difficult, pretending to not know who she is talking about. To pretend she doesn’t know that it’s the name of a snake, a snake who has saved her life before, who defended her at the cost of his own health. She hadn’t wanted to leave him behind when the ruse was up but… she hadn’t a choice. It’s not like she’d had the time to stop by the kitchens on the way out, and she’d been relatively sure Binny would look after her legless friend. “I don’t see why not.”</p>
<p>“Excellent. I don’t doubt your father has shared some of his adventures among our hallowed halls;, would you care to try finding the kitchens on your own? I’m afraid I have a few things I would like to discuss with your father, and it is always terribly difficult to find time for opportune meetings such as this.” Well, now she wants to stay. What could Dumbledore possibly want to talk to her father about? Dom’s confident the memory has them both fooled, so the chances that the Headmaster has recognised her as Rigel is low. She has her aura set to Harriet Potter, and her occlumency is far enough away from Rigel’s that it can’t give her away.</p>
<p>Potentially, it is nothing to do with her. Her father is a Lord and the political landscape has suffered a monumental earthquake; everyone is still attempting to find their way around, to find where everyone stands in this new territory. She cannot be surprised that the Headmaster wants to catch up with James. So Harry nods, smiles, and gets to her feet.</p>
<p>“I’ve just got to tickle the pear, right? Hopefully there won’t be a lot of paintings with those.”</p>
<p>“Ask a ghost if you get lost,” James calls after her as she makes for the door. “Just not the Baron. You’ll recognise him, he’s-”</p>
<p>“Covered in blood. I got it. Enjoy your grown-up talk, Dad.” She flips her head back in time to catch sight of her father’s familiar mulish expression (it always comes out whenever he gets lumped with adult-talk) as she disappears out the door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just in case she’s being watched, Harry makes sure to wander the halls, to skip over one of the trip stairs after counting them out, only to pretend to have mixed up her counting out on the wrong staircase and fall for it anyway. Still, it’s nowhere near as bad as when she got caught in first-year; she manages to pull herself out easily enough, setting off in the wrong direction on the right floor just to add some authenticity to her ‘lost-little-girl’ act. All the while, her mind spins.</p>
<p>Getting Dom to block off her Parseltongue had only ever been a temporary solution; there had always been a chance she’d get caught out, and who knew what the Riddle Construct was up to these days? The chances of her being detected were too high. This, on the other hand, offers a neat little solution. Rigel, sensible and pragmatic individual that he is, drops a defining trait alongside the face everyone knows, one that is too recognisable and rare to carry openly. He gives it to the one person who helped him out and could potentially benefit from it; Harriet Potter. Now, Harriet Potter can access snake venom for her potions and take care of Rigel’s friend: the snake, Treeslider.</p>
<p>Perfectly wrapped up with a neat little bow. She’d even spoken to Dumbledore about that exact ritual as Rigel, so it’s known to the Headmaster that Rigel had already been planning for this, just in case everything fell through. Of course, it’s actually been pure happenstance on her part, but the Headmaster didn’t know that part. Best of all, James would eventually let this slip to Sirius in his outrage, and Sirius probably wouldn’t be able to help himself but to let this slip the next time he saw Regulus for the exact same reason. Which means it’ll eventually get back to the SOW party, one way or another.</p>
<p>Stopping by the picture with the pear (after trying three others that she’s spotted; can’t let on that she knows it’s this one right off the bat), Harry gives it a tickle and smiles when the image giggles, swinging outwards. She ducks through the passageway, brushing her bangs back from her face as the droves of house-elves all turn to look at her as one.</p>
<p>“Er, hello? I’m Harry Potter… I’m here for a snake? Rigel left it to me…” She trails off, as if unsure and a barb strikes her as Binny comes forwards, none of that familiar welcome in her bulbous eyes. That’s- there’s another thing she’s lost, another relationship broken by her lies.</p>
<p>“Miss is here for Mr Black’s snake?” Harry nods, not quite able to push down the lump in her throat. Because she’s in the kitchens of Hogwarts, all on her own as the elves putter about… shouldn’t Binny be gone by now? Looking after the baby unicorns in France? Is this another thing she has upset with the ruse?</p>
<p>Whatever conclusions she could deduce on the subject are blown away by a very familiar hiss, the slithering form of Treeslider making his way through the throngs of elves.</p>
<p>“Sssspeaker! Ssspeaker! You have left me for daysssss in this place!” And Harry laughs, kneeling and offering her arm out. She smiles as his head bumps against her fingers.</p>
<p>“Hello, Treesssslider. I have misssssed you so much. I am sssssorrry to have left you here, I will get you plenty of mice, if you want to come with me, that issss.”</p>
<p>“Cannot leave the sssspeaker on her own. Not when sssshe caussssessss ssso much trouble.” She resents that; it’s hardly like she concocts all the situations she ends up in. Things just… happen to her. Harry would be much happier if the world would just leave her alone to brew in peace. But Riddle is never going to stop needling people like her mother, like her, all in his quest to save the old wizarding bloodlines. And…. No one else is aware of it all, no one else holds the majority of the cards like Harry does.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, it’s all fallen on her shoulders; it’s up to her to do something about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Binny sends her on her way with Treeslider, offering the snake a parting gift of a mouse. He’d taken it gratefully, muttering under his breath that the new location better be warm and hold a plentiful mouse population as the ‘large stone nest’ did. She should feel guilty, getting to keep this part of her Hogwarts life. She’d even offered to take Treeslider down to the edge of the forest, but he’d refused, adamantly so. With ‘his speaker’ was where he wished to remain, as he’d so put it. In all honesty, Harry hadn’t put up much of a fight beyond that, too eager for familiar company.</p>
<p>“Harry!”</p>
<p>Tilting her head to a side, Harry watches her father approach, taking note of the serious set to his face, the eyebrows drawing ever so slightly closer to each other.</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>“Did you get what you needed?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’ve got the snake. He’s called Treeslider; I’ve promised him we’ll have live mice every day to keep him fed.”</p>
<p>James tries for a smile but falls flat, a grimace twisting at his features as he looks at the snake residing on her shoulders. Treeslider isn’t exactly the biggest of his species, nevermind in comparison to the entirety of his kind. It’s probably what the snake will become associated with, Harry decides. After all, according to the memory he’s seen, James only knows that his daughter is now a Parselmouth because a wanted criminal (and ha, isn’t that a ridiculous title for Rigel Black) had kidnapped her from her own back garden and forced the skill upon her. She hopes he’ll come to accept it though.</p>
<p>“And Sirius won’t have to get rid of his snakes now,” Harry tags on, running a finger along the length of Treeslider’s head and smiling as the snake grumpily told her to let him sleep.</p>
<p>“I don’t think Sirius would have given them up for anything.” After that admission, they walk in silence for a while, Harry doing her best to pretend she hasn’t noticed they’re going on the scenic route. She wonders how James feels, walking the halls of the school he’s outgrown. Does he regret marrying Lily, if only because it means his children will never get to study here? If he’d wed a halfblood, then Harry would have been technically pureblood, she’d have been able to attend. But she also doubts her magic would have been what it is. Even if this alternate her had been as gifted at potions as she is now… Harry cannot imagine a world where her magic isn’t exactly like it is now.</p>
<p>They exit through the main door, walking across the courtyard. Her boots make the familiar thumps against the ancient stones, far more audible now in the silence between herself and her father than it’d ever been when she’d strolled through the entranceway with Draco and Pansy. Malfoy and Parkinson.</p>
<p>“Would you ever want to come to Hogwarts, Harry?” Would she ever want to come to Hogwarts? Right now, the answer would be a no. But only for the repercussions, for how difficult it would make her life. She’d have to hide every reaction, every bit of knowledge, the things she knows as instinct now. To jump over that trick-step, the correct way to get the kitchen, where the Slytherin common rooms are. But she cannot answer this question as Harry-who-was-once-Rigel. She needs to answer this as Harry who has been living in the Lower Alleys, teaching herself because she’d given up her own schooling chances in order for Archie to achieve his dream.</p>
<p>“You know I’ve always wanted to attend, Dad. Especially given that the potions master-”</p>
<p>“Is Snape,” James finishes, exhaling hard and angling his face up to the sky, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Dumbledore’s going to try and use this momentum to push back the laws, you know that, right?”</p>
<p>Harry nods, plucking at the hem of her shirt and flapping it about, getting some much-needed air up around her torso. It’s nearly uncomfortably warm, though Treeslider is clearly basking in it. “Here’s hoping he does well then. Archie’s great, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with him.” Harry laughs, waits for James to join in before she continues. “Besides, he’s pretty gone on Hermione. If the law doesn’t get changed, I can see him moving to America to be with her. That means I’ll be left to brew my potions in peace.”</p>
<p>“…What about Leo?”</p>
<p>Harry blinks, stops. Angles her head back to look up at her father with a frown. “What about him?”</p>
<p>“You both looked pretty close at the Gala. And, and the Lestrange boy seemed to get along well with you. For a Lestrange, that is.” The last sentence is muttered but Harry’s still trying to come to grips with the fact James has brought up boys. Boys. As a topic of conversation. Chosen by her father. Usually, he’s all for her forgetting the opposite gender exists and she’s normally more than happy to continue along with his delusions, unless there’s the occasional moment where she can tease him about it. Only, this is a much more serious conversation than she’d been expecting. It’s… discomforting.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to get married.” James jolts, staring down at her, his expression so blatantly ‘deer-in-headlights’ that it’s a wonder he hasn’t given away his status as an animagus to those not in the know.</p>
<p>“Not married?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. I don’t even think I’ll ever want to be in a relationship.” It’s, just not on her list of things to do. It’s not something she’s planning on doing at any point. In fact, all she’s ever planned for is to become a potions master, to do whatever it takes to get there, to-</p>
<p>James is hugging her.</p>
<p>“Never change, Harry.”</p>
<p>Puzzled, Harry pats at her father’s back, a small smile on her face despite her confusion and Treeslider’s hissed threats for them to be released right this moment.</p>
<p>“I’ll try not to, Dad.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
<p> </p>
<p>[HpHpHp]</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They arrived back from Hogwarts just before midday and, taking advantage of James’ suddenly radiant good mood, Harry slips out with a promise she’ll get her lunch at Diagon. No specifics on where abouts in Diagon but, with the way James smiles at her and sends her on her way with the request she ‘be careful and take her emergency portkey’, she rather thinks he’s coming around to the idea of where she spends her time. The sudden trust that she can take care of herself in an environment James’d previously thought dangerous could either be him trusting her as a near-young adult now, or (more likely) the acknowledgement that she’s spent a few years there already and is good and well. Maybe once he comes down from his good mood, he’ll regret letting her scuttle out of the house but that is a problem for later consideration.</p>
<p>For now, she’s on step two of her ‘don’t catch Rigel with Parseltongue’ plan. With the news of her ‘new’ trait eventually reaching Regulus and, by proximity, the SOW party, she needs to make it obvious she’s not uncomfortable with her Rigel-given trait. That means carting Treeslider around for a bit; make it obvious that she is trying her best to exercise this new skill and become comfortable with it, along with fulfilling the request her former ‘partner-in-crime’ has made of her; to look after his favourite snake.</p>
<p>“When sssshall I dine on more prey, Sssspeaker?”</p>
<p>“I’ll get you sssome ssssoon, Treesssslider. My enemy isss another sssspeaker; could you refer to me assss another persssson, different from the one you knew?”</p>
<p>“Sssspeaker’ssss life isss ssso ssstrange,” the snake moans into her ear, settling his head back down to rest upon her collarbone. She’s aware a good portion of his body is already exposed by her collar, no doubt to soak in the sunshine, and it’ll only be a matter of time before word begins to circulate that there’s a girl out and about with a snake on her shoulders.</p>
<p>Who knows, maybe Dumbledore will do half the work for her and tell Professor Snape about the ritual Rigel performed? No one would think to question Dumbledore on if he thought it was a falsified memory. Regardless, the most important thing in all of this is that the information gets back to Riddle. The sooner Riddle knows that Harry is a Parselmouth and, most importantly, Rigel is no longer a Parselmouth, the safer she’ll be. She’s differentiated herself enough from Rigel with her aura and occlumency that it’ll be unthinkable that they’re the same person. Especially given the way she had presented herself as Rigel; it’d have been perfectly in character for him to ruthlessly give up a characteristic of himself to further his goals.</p>
<p>She can do this. Hell, it might even be time to start planning further ahead than this summer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Snaking through the Lower Alleys, Harry makes for the Phoenix, pulling self-consciously at the collar of her tunic shirt. It’s a ridiculous action; the shirt is practically the same as she’d worn last summer, it’s just the way it sits on her form that’s different. It doesn’t even matter; it’s not like she’s trying to hide her gender right now, everyone who matters already knows anyway.</p>
<p>She walks past Krait’s place, her eyes lingering on the door. She should probably go in and pick up a list of orders but… she wants to see her friends. It’s been ages since she’s had a purpose to brew a load of potions, but it’s been even longer since she saw everyone. Given what’s been happening in the Lower Alleys, well, checking in that everyone’s safe is a bit more important than her favourite pastime.</p>
<p>Harry turns onto Kyprioth Court and then finds herself staring at her own face. Well, not her own face, but the face that once used to be hers. It’s a poster of Rigel and there’s a king’s ransom sitting at the very top of the paper. Though, perhaps a king’s ransom is a bit of an exaggeration. Still, for the people of the Lower Alleys, it’s a lot of money. There’s a small paragraph beneath, explaining that the boy was known as ‘Rigel’, information on where he was last sighted, and a general summary about why he’s wanted. She’s impressed that the posters have even been put up on the streets like this, she hadn’t exactly seen them around Diagon. Then again, Diagon is where most of the people who’ve seen Rigel’s face frequent and she doesn’t doubt that they would rat him out. They’re probably thinking the people of the Lower Alleys are more desperate for money than they are to keep a fellow associates’ identify safe from the upper crust.</p>
<p>Clearly whoever ordered these posters be put up has no understanding of this place at all. Which doesn’t really narrow it down.</p>
<p>“You’re famous now.”</p>
<p>“Leo!” Harry spins on her heels, scowling up at the Rouge that has, once again, appeared out of nowhere. He’s a far sight more casual than the last time she’d seen him in his formal robes, though the red colour-scheme seems to have remained. His hair is different, there’s an undercut that makes the chestnut flop on his head all the more obvious now. But the laughing eyes and easy smile are still the same. One hand in his pocket and the other casually tapping his wand against his leg before it magically disappears. It’s not right. She’s never seen Leo look this... tense before. Oh sure, to the untrained eye, he’s as relaxed as can be; shoulders loose, smile easy, stance open. But Harry’s used to looking for the unexpected. She’s unable to do anything but, given her years at Hogwarts. She wouldn’t trade them for the world, but they sure have been... mentally trying.</p>
<p>The quick scan of surroundings, the free hands resting just by the belt where she knows a knife is hidden, the ready placement of feet; Leo’s on edge.</p>
<p>“How you doing, Lass?”</p>
<p>“Well, thank you. Though it hasn’t been long since the last time we saw each other.”</p>
<p>“A lot can happen in the space of a week,” Leo muses, offering her his arm and Harry slips her hand into the crook of his elbow warily, stepping closer. She scans the crowds, picking out some familiar faces, though most remain unknown to her. Still, if Leo doesn’t have a problem, then there’s nothing she can do at the moment. He’s the King, after all.</p>
<p>“And has a lot happened in the space of a week?” asks Harry, her voice low and muffled ever so slightly as she turns towards her friend. Leo’s back in his usual sleeveless tunic and there’s a telling sheen of sweat to his biceps; probably fresh from a spar. She hopes it’s a spar, not another challenge for his role as the Rogue. He’s got enough on his plate at the moment.</p>
<p>“No. And that’s what’s worrying me. Usually at least one fool would have tried for my crown by now. That, or some problem would have reared its ugly head between the different fractions. But that’s just it; it’s been quiet.”</p>
<p>“Too quiet,” Harry finishes, feeling that churning worry lurch about in her stomach. Is it too much for her to wish for a quiet, easy life? Is she being too greedy to want that for her friends and her family too? She hasn’t even managed it for herself; one only needs to look at the length she’s going to in order to hide from Riddle’s ever-expanding reach to acknowledge that.</p>
<p>“You’ll notice all the little changes soon enough,” Leo says, eyes scanning their surroundings, no doubt cataloguing every face that passes them by. Harry’s relatively surprised to realise she has a passing recognition of most of them, all faces she’s seen in the background during her ventures into the Lower Alleys. Still, if there was to be an attack coming, it’ll be Leo that notices what’s out of place before she does. He knows these people, knows this place. It’s his; his to protect, his to look after. Of course, he’ll notice any outliers. “More importantly though, everyone’s gonna notice this change.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Harry scrunches up her nose ever so slightly when Leo cups her chin between his finger and thumb. To everyone watching (and there will be people watching, Leo’s the king, eyes follow him), it probably looks quite awkward. It looks awkward to Harry, and she’s part of the duo walking arm in arm as one gets their face almost squeezed.</p>
<p>“Yep,” Leo pops the ‘p’ of the word with great enthusiasm, long strides eating up the distance between them and their destination. “This pretty princess face? Rispah might not let you leave.”</p>
<p>“That’s good, I wanted to work on my expressions with her again.” At this, Leo does falter a little, shaking his head. It does prompt him into releasing his hold on her chin though, so Harry lets him continue his dramatics unmolested.</p>
<p>“That’s the last thing you need to be doing. You’ve already got the pretty little pout and those, ah, how did Margo put it? Ah, that was it! Enchanting eyes. Whatever would you need Rispah’s little tricks for?”</p>
<p>“Never know when you might need to play an ace card,” Harry retorts, doing her best to pretend the redness to her own cheeks is nothing more than the result of the summer’s sun. “I like having a deck or so up my sleeves.”</p>
<p>“Now that I can believe, Lass. Ah, I’m gonna be fighting off all your suitors now. Maybe I spoke too soon about the lack of challenges?” Suitors. It’s still a weird thought, but Harry’s not exactly been short on that, she’s come to realise. Well, that’s not quite true, is it? It’d been Rigel who’d had no shortage of suitors, though she’d only realised it before the start of that final task. To think, it’d taken Sirius pointing out Zhao. Which, in hindsight, should probably have been obvious now. Then again, Draco’s affections should have been obvious. Maybe she’s just a bit blindsided to something that she’d never really taken an interest in. But now, Harry can’t help but look at Leo and wonder what is him just being friendly, and what is him showing genuine interest? Because he’s interested, has said so previously. She just, doesn’t know how to respond.</p>
<p>There’s so much on her plate already.</p>
<p>“Speaking of challenges,” Leo mutters and Harry follows his gaze, a smile crossing her face when she finds Marek Swiftknife standing by the door to the Phoenix. He’s squinting at Leo and her, a look of genuine puzzlement on his face and, oh yeah, this is gonna be great fun.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It takes a half hour or so for everyone to calm down over the fact her face is no longer under modified Polyjuice. It’d grated, having to state that she couldn’t work the potion without Rigel who has oh so conveniently disappeared; everyone had allowed her to feed them that sugar-coated lie, all but Leo, who’s already tasted some of the bitter truth, for all that she hasn’t outright admitted to everything. He’d just smiled and said nothing, too busy enjoying the way everyone was pandering to her.</p>
<p>Still, Harry got her milk for free and Rispah took one look at her face and told her to stop by again tomorrow so she could share some of her ‘more efficient’ looks. Those had been her exact words and really, Harry’s just a little excited to have something new to practice. Something to do to make this face actually feel like her own, for all that she intellectually knows it is.</p>
<p>While it’s nice to meet up with everyone again, nice to get to see how they’re doing and how their faces have changed since she last saw them, it doesn’t detract from the stark differences in the Phoenix. The crowds are more subdued, there are less children visibly present, and… there’s an air of anticipation. Not the pre-quidditch kind either. More like, like when she’s free-brewing. When she’s very conscious of the fact she’s throwing together ingredients that may cause a reaction she can’t catch if she’s not giving it her full attention.</p>
<p>Harry scans the crowds but there’s no faces that leap out, there’s no one that makes her magic swirl with an early warning sign of danger. Could she catch issues like this? Could her magic read the intentions of others in the air, just like it can sense a reaction within a potion before it actually begins to implode on itself? It’s a thought she sets aside for later consideration. Especially because there’s a familiar head of bushy hair that’s just pushed her way through the pub doors.</p>
<p>Hermione doesn’t look too different to how Harry had last seen her at the final task, right before she’d had to flee the Hogwarts grounds. Perhaps she’s a little more tan, her hair a little lighter from the sun. The wild mane is pulled up into a semi-tamed ponytail, her wand stashed clearly strapped into a dueller’s brace. Harry wonders where and when she got it, though she can guess the inspiration came from the Triwizard Tournament. She isn’t the only one to notice though.</p>
<p>“Hermione!” Leo calls, lifting a hand and waving it over his head until the girl catches sight of them. “Over here!”</p>
<p>“Leo,” Harry hisses, looking to the only other person that seems to be on board with her idea that magic is sentient, “what are you doing?!”</p>
<p>“You’re the one that helped her into the Lower Alleys,” he says back, keeping his voice low as everyone else at the table welcomes Hermione by name, Marek even going so far as to ask how her day at the clinic has been. “I’ve been making sure she knows the ropes, knows who she can rely on, stuff like that.” Stuff like that, he says. Chewing on her lower lip, Harry turns her eyes back to Hermione, even as her brain whirls. She’d spoken so much with the other girl during their stint together at the tournament but, for the life of her, Harry can’t remember everything that had been something only Rigel had shared with Hermione. It’s… difficult. Out of everyone (barring Master Snape, that is), Hermione is the one she’s spent the most time with as Harry and Rigel. She’s also clever and terrifyingly efficient. And, while that may make them kindred spirits, it also offers Hermione more than a few of the puzzle pieces. She’s going to have to be… careful here.</p>
<p>“Hello, Hermione. I didn’t realise you’d kept your internship at the clinic going.” Internship is the right word, isn’t it? True, it’s probably not paid, Maywell is mostly charity funded, after all.</p>
<p>“Yes, Healer Hurst was more than happy to let me return this summer, er,” Hermione trails off, staring at her, eyes lingering on each of her features, one after the other.</p>
<p>“It’s a big change, right?” Leo suddenly chirps from beside her, throwing one arm across her shoulders and drawing Harry into his side enough that Hermione can slip onto the bench beside her. Harry clutches at her half-drunk glass of milk and allows him to bundle her along, shifting enough on her own that Hermione can join them in the booth. “Harry’s potion disguise wore off.”</p>
<p>“Oh!” Hermione turns fully in her seat now to appraise Harry’s face, like it’s something that should be committed to memory. It’s… uncomfortable. Even more so when Marek fires off a cat-call of a whistle, high pitched and attention grabbing. “Are you doing something with your eyes? I’ve never seen anyone with eyes quite that shade of green.” Yes, neither has Harry. She’s well aware where the vivid shade of her eyes comes from, knows it is her mother’s wild magic that has inspired their near glowing vibrancy. But, she’s not too sure if Lily would want that shared. After all, Harry herself had never known about it for years, she cannot imagine her mother would want the reason her eyes are so conspicuous to be known to the world at large. If she did, she’d probably have told Harry at an earlier age.</p>
<p>“My eyes have always been this colour,” is what she settles for, watching Hermione’s lips thin ever so slightly. Still, the other girl nods in acceptance, giving her a curious once over and Harry swallows past the lump in her throat. Because Archie may have smoothed things out with Hermione, but Harry hasn’t. “If it’s somehow a result of magic, it isn’t something I’ve consciously decided to do.” There, the truth without outright stating her mother is the cause. “And, it was me, last summer, that is.”</p>
<p>Leo, as if sensing her need for a private conversation, is quick to draw both Rispah and Marek into conversation about some upcoming festival, something that Harry makes a mental note to ask about later.</p>
<p>“Well, I certainly don’t blame any of you for lying, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Hermione whispers with a sniff, accepting the glass of orange juice one of the waitresses passes her, sipping on the beverage almost daintily. “I was mad at Ha- at Archie,” Hermione aggressively corrects herself, setting the glass down onto a coaster with a rather loud bang that the rest of their table politely ignores, “but I’m past that now. I mean, we became friends after you’d made this plan and given the punishments that you were risking, well, I can understand. That Rigel managed a collective ‘fuck you’ to the purebloods before he went out is certainly something I can appreciate.”</p>
<p>“And things with you and Archie are okay then?” Harry asks, determinedly ignoring the slight waver of Hermione’s voice as she’d cursed. Maybe introducing her to the Alleys was a bad idea if it’s going to colour her language like this; it’s probably not a good thing for a future healer to talk like that.</p>
<p>Pink-cheeked, Hermione quickly retreats to the brim of her glass again, hastily swallowing down a few more mouthfuls instead of answering her right away. Which, which is promising. If anything, Harry’s happy that Archie’s crush seems to be working out. He’d said they were alright without actually expanding on it, but Harry can read between the lines… now. Her previous experience with Draco is helping a bit. Finally, placing her glass down again with far more care this time, Hermione gives a small, tentative smile. “I think Archie and I are fine. And, and we’re friends… right?”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Harry agrees easily, lifting one finger to rub it over the grumbling Treeslider’s head. “Rigel passed his notes about the Fade onto me and I’ve managed to rope in- well, another potioneer. Though he’s a bit… prickly.”</p>
<p>“A blood purist, by any chance?” Harry smiles a bit witlessly because, yeah, that’s one word for Caelum. He certainly won’t be meeting Hermione any time soon, that’s for sure. From the way the other girl nods, it’s clear she’s in agreement with Harry’s unspoken thought. She’d probably got her fill of it at Hogwarts; there’d only been so much Rigel would defend her from, after all, no matter how courteous she’d managed to guilt her friends into begin. “Harry? My parents and I are going camping later this week. Would you and Archie like to pop down for the day? Maybe bring Archie’s dad, Sirius, was it?”</p>
<p>“I, yeah. I’d like that.” She is, after all, rather short on non-Alley friends right now. Even if she wanted to, she can’t afford to be picky. But… Hermione’s a good friend, will quite possibly be around for a very long time, if Archie gets his way. She managed to build a relationship with the other girl whilst hiding behind Rigel’s face, she should be able to do the same using her own.</p>
<p>Harry settles back into the booth, her shoulders warm from the arm Leo still has resting over them, Treeslider curled around her collarbones and basking in the heat. Instead, she allows herself to relax into the familiar comforts of the Phoenix, paying attention to the little changes, but not allowing them to get in the way of enjoying this moment. Just for now, that is.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once Rispah and Hermione’s lunch break is over, Leo and she waved them goodbye and headed back onto the streets again. Out here, there are a few more children running around; Harry’s startled to see one in particular appears to have cut up one of her (Rigel’s) wanted posters and fashioned it into a mask, playing at a mock-duel with one of his friends. It sparks a laugh of disbelief from her chest, the sheer absurdity of it all. That’s right, the events had been televised onto a big screen in Diagon, hadn’t they?</p>
<p>“So, what’s with the snake?” Just like her, Leo is watching the two kids in the street, one corner of his mouth pulled up in a lopsided smile. He even laughs when the Rigel one darts forwards and the other child throws himself back, as if pushed away by an invisible shield. Yeah, that had been her one slip-up, hadn’t it? While the Fortis shield had been her best option to use during the Triwizard Tournament, she hadn’t considered the fact there were more than a handful of people who’d recognise it from the Free Duelling tournament until after the event was over. Seeing it in two children with one playing at being her alter-ego is… something.</p>
<p>“Rigel kidnapped me,” Harry starts with, watching the disbelief filter through Leo’s eyes, one eyebrow ticking up as he stops looking at the ‘duelling’ children and instead turns his gaze on her. “There’s this ritual that lets you pass on bloodline abilities to another person and he thought it was too defining a trait to keep, what with how he’s led Riddle around by the nose.” It goes unsaid between them that politicians do not appreciate being taken for a stroll up the garden path, even more so when it doesn’t actually bring you out at the house you’ve invested in. Harry isn’t stupid; she’s dealt with the construct of Riddle’s before. She knows how vicious he can be and, given how she’s royally ruined his plans… Yes, distancing Harry and Rigel is exactly what she needs to keep doing for her continued good health. Once she’s got that sorted, then she can finally return to her true passion in peace. It has been so long since she’s been able to focus solely on potions that it’s like a permanent ache in her breast.</p>
<p>“Uh huh. You know, I find it remarkably hard to believe this Rigel fellow would kidnap you.”</p>
<p>“Am I not important enough?” Harry widens her eyes, pushes her lower lip forwards and stares up at Leo. He takes one look and then glances away, his own eyes rolling skywards, as if asking what on earth he can do with her.</p>
<p>“Oh, you’re pretty much a princess now, so it’s not the case of being important enough. It’s the whole ‘someone managed to kidnap you’ part that I’m questioning.”</p>
<p>“What issss thissss one ssssaying?” Slowly lifting his head, Treeslider considers Leo from his spot on her collarbones, thin tongue flicking out to taste the air around them.</p>
<p>“He’sss jusssst ssssaying that he findssss it unlikely that I would be taken hosssstage.” Leo flinches a little, but Harry doesn’t focus too much on it. As comforting as Leo’s confidence in her is, there’s no denying that kidnapping isn’t a worry. After- after what happened in her third year, it is still something of a reoccurring fear. She’s never really approached the idea of being underground again and closed spaces can still leave her feeling… discomforted. It’d been different in the dungeons; the dungeons are associated with Slytherin and potions and Master Snape and she’d felt safe there.</p>
<p>The idea of having to get into another bunker somewhere, to go underground and potentially find herself under wards again is something she rather thinks she’ll avoid.</p>
<p>“I will protect sssspeaker, no one will ssssurprisssse you while I am here,” Treeslider grumbles, laying his head back against her shoulder and Harry reaches up to run one finger along his dry, scaled head. She doesn’t doubt Treeslider’s words; this is the snake that had thrown himself into mortal danger in order to help her within the past year. Harry hadn’t even realised the serpent had valued her so much that he would do so, but she’s certainly grateful. She returns her attention to Leo, forcibly ignoring the way that he’s staring at her with something that’s not quite hesitance, but perhaps belongs to the same family.</p>
<p>“Enough about my run in with the law,” Harry says, waving as if she can shoo the topic from their current conversation. She has always associated the Lower Alleys as an escape from the hassle of her life and, even if they’ve forcibly crashed together now, she’s going to do her best to pretend for a few hours that it isn’t the case. “Tell me about this festival that was mentioned in the Phoenix. Is there anything I can help out with?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Leo leads her down the winding residential areas, all the while telling her of his plans for the summer. As the Free Duelling tournament had been such a success, had brought in enough revenue that the Alleys have been able to rebuild quickly from the attacks that have been happening, he’s been looking into ways to generate that kind of income again within the risk of another tourney. A festival, Leo had told her, wasn’t illegal. Oh, there was every chance some of the stall owners would try to slip a few illegal sales through on the down low but, as long as it wasn’t anything harmful and they paid the tax for such a thing, Leo was willing to look the other way. It was more about the culture of it, of creating an environment of good-will and happiness to support the people here.</p>
<p>“How much for a stall?” Harry has more than enough potions stock, or, she will by the time this rolls around. Selling off some of her brews at a discount price, things that will help the people of the Lower Alleys, sounds exactly like the kind of thing she wants to be getting up to over summer. Maybe she can sweet-talk Archie into coming and working as a sales assistant?</p>
<p>“Are you planning on undercutting Krait, Lass?”</p>
<p>“Not really? I mean, I could sell some of the potions that I make for him a little cheaper for the duration of the day, but I was actually thinking it’d be a good time for me to step outside of my usual works.” Because being a potions master isn’t just about focusing in on one field. Well, it is, but Harry doesn’t want to just ignore an entire branch simply because she doesn’t believe it has any uses. Cosmetic potions have some uses, she’s begrudgingly come to admit, chief in point being what she has done with her wand. True, to call what she’d done a cosmetic potion would be a bit of a stretch and she certainly doesn’t plan on advertising just how she’s changed the appearance of her wand… maybe in thirty years when all the hullaballoo of this Rigel situation is nothing more than a distant memory. Maybe then she could ‘invent’ the potion to cast a glamour on inanimate objects. She does have the hair-dye potions she and Archie and been playing about with, back when she’d started to test the limits of shape-imbuing. There’s one thing she could start selling that couldn’t be classified as ‘harmful’.</p>
<p>“Sometimes, I do wonder if you were born in a cauldron,” Leo mutters, shaking his head and taking them left at the end of the street. They’re approaching from a different side this time, so it takes Harry a moment to recognise that he’s leading her to her flat. The curtains are drawn across the window, the dull red and gold of the fabric almost hidden behind the reflective glare of sunlight on the glass.</p>
<p>“I did teethe on a stirring rod,” Harry jokes, stopping by the base of the building and letting her magic flood through her hands. While Leo might be content climbing with just chalk on his hands, Harry’s had quite enough of dangerous climbs in her life now. She might never have gotten up that tower in the Triwizard Tournament without those gloves, might have ended up exactly like Fleur at the end of it all. But she’s not drugged right now and her magic is sparking beneath her skin with the need to be used. She asks it to flood to her hands, to make them stick and hold tight, to not slip or falter. And then, she’s off, climbing up the side of the building as Leo’s still dusting up his palms.</p>
<p>Her fingers ache with the climb, unused to the task, much like how they’d once done when she first started prepping her own potions ingredients. Some of the nuts she’d used had been difficult to crack open and doing so magically could affect the properties. She’s developed a nifty little trick with a knife since then though, so that has since spared her fingers. Climbing, however, is a whole other ball game and while her magic ensures she doesn’t fall, it does nothing to soothe the aches in her muscles. Which is good, just another group she needs to ensure she’s exercising on the daily.</p>
<p>The window is unlocked and opens for her, a product of her magic reaching out and prompting it to slide open. By the time Harry has clambered through and stood herself up, Leo’s following her through, leaving dusty white handprints on the windowsill as he goes. It’s just as semi-homely as the last time she was here, with all the stuff that Leo had filled it with as his apology gift. She’s had a copy of the potions periodicals ordered to arrive here too; they’re neatly stacked up on the coffee table and she’ll have to remember to swap them out for the ones she’s got in her trunk, all with her notes scribbled in the margins. It’ll give more credibility to the fact she’s been living here all along.</p>
<p>It is only as she releases her magic from her hands that the other thing registers. There are wards around her apartment. Harry flinches back, stumbling into the bed and her knee smarts from the contact but there are wards around her apartment.</p>
<p>“Woah! Harry, calm down!” Leo’s hand wraps around her wrist and Harry focuses on that, focuses on the fact Leo is touching her and it’s his voice, not Pettigrew’s. It’s bright, there’s sunlight coming in through the curtains that’ve been forced open on entry and they’re not underground, they’re above ground and she’s not in the cave.</p>
<p>She’d thought she was past this; it’s been more than a year now. She should be past it but there are wards here where she was supposed to be safe.</p>
<p>“Harry, calm down.” It’s Leo again, his voice somewhat muffled as he speaks into her hair, his arms around her shoulders because he’s pulled her into a hug. Pettigrew hadn’t held her, her magic had never allowed him close enough to, had always forced him back and away. Just like when it’d slammed him into the wall with the full force of its fury.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Harry chokes out, taking the rampant emotion and bottling it up, shoving it down and away into the depths of her mind and she’s certain Dom is helping out there, but she does her best not to think too much on him right now. For all that he’s helped, for all that he’s one of the lynchpins keeping the ruse together now… they’d still met in that cave. “Wasn’t expecting the wards.”</p>
<p>“That was a pretty, intense reaction,” Leo says slowly, hesitantly. “Do you want to talk-”</p>
<p>“No. I don’t want to talk about it.” Can’t talk about it. She’d only told Archie the bare basics, just enough for him to be able to give Sirius an idea if he really asked, but that was it. Only Dom knows the true extent of it, and that’s an entity trapped in her head, bound to protect her.</p>
<p>Harry steps back and away from the hug, drawing up her internal walls and snuffing the panic out completely. While panic isn’t exactly the emotion that she’s used to subduing, she’s had more than enough practice given her friendship with Draco. A friendship that is now dead and buried.</p>
<p>“Why are there wards on my flat?”</p>
<p>“Happy birthday?” Leo offers with a shrug, making himself right at home by sitting himself down on her unused bed, kicking one leg up so his ankle can rest against his knee. He bounces the foot once, twice, and then plants an elbow to his free knee, fist pressing into his cheek as he grins up at her. “I commissioned some wards for your flat, just in case. Obviously, I don’t know everything that you’ve been getting into, but a little extra safety never hurt anyone, did it?” Harry would like to point out that a bit of safety has most certainly killed a few witches and wizards over the years. A lot of stuff has killed a lot of people throughout history. But, that’s not what she wants to focus on.</p>
<p>“How do they work?”</p>
<p>“Well, they’re tied to the owner of the flat, which is you. You just need to link your magic up to them; I’ve got the list of which ones I had included and, if you want to add a few more in yourself, if you know how to, then it should layer up fine.” That’s incredibly thoughtful.</p>
<p>It rests on the tip of the tongue, the need to admit the truth, if only part of it. To let Leo know that no, Rigel hadn’t given her Parseltongue, she’s had it all along. To admit that she’s scrambling to accept the fact she’s under wards in an enclosed space, even if they’re her own, and the reason why she’s so uncomfortable is because of it.</p>
<p>But she can’t. Harry can’t risk it, can’t do it to Leo. He already knows just a bit too much, already has too many of the pieces and any more means he’ll be dragged before Wizengamot if people know. She can’t risk that. Leo is so much more than one person; he’s the King of Rouges. He’s the protector of the Lower Alleys and he does a damn good job of it all. She can’t do that to him, to them.</p>
<p>Instead, she spends the rest of her afternoon tapping into her shiny new wards, not quite ignoring Leo but just appreciating his silent company as he scribbled away ideas, probably about the festival. And, it’s nice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
<p> </p>
<p>[HpHpHp]</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Got everything Harry?”</p>
<p>It’s been two days since her little jaunt to Hogwarts and Harry has spent most of her time since, brewing for Krait. It’s therapeutic, filling the usual orders and having the time to double the stock, so that she can just send them off when Krait puts in his next request. It gives her the time to begin expanding her repertoire of cosmetic potions in the coming days. Leo had said the festival wouldn’t be until mid-August, so she has three weeks. However, she only has a few days to get a working sample, as each of them will need to be tested, made, and approved by the Guild in order to legally sell them.   She’s had enough time to recreate the hair colour changing potions she and Archie had trialled previously, and had begun outlining the requests of Rispah, and Marek, and had three key ingredients for both of them,  but Harry still needs to do more research before she starts making the potion.</p>
<p>“I think so. Besides, you’re the one staying the night, not me.”</p>
<p>Archie grins at her, a camping bag slung up and over his shoulder. She’s not quite sure what to expect from this little outing, but when they’d said Hermione had invited them to join her parents for ‘muggle camping’, Lily hadn’t quite been able to hide her smile. Harry’s a little eager to find out why. It’ll certainly be an experience of the three of them. Almost hesitantly, she turns to look at Sirius, who is decked out in a pair of stretch denim jeans and an old Gryffindor quidditch top. It’s remarkably on brand for him; the only thing that could be a bit more on the nose is if he were wearing some kind of snake relevant motif, given his beloved pets. Then again, without them, he’d no longer be a walking advertisement for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. There’re ideas there, swirling about in Harry’s head, but she pushes them back and away.</p>
<p>For her, this is to assure herself that the ruse hasn’t blown Archie and Hermione’s friendship to bits. She knows Archie said all was good, and she knows that Hermione was okay when she spoke to her just the other day, but… it might be different in person. She knows that her own friendships as Rigel, as well as that she shared with Leo, were exceptionally different from how she’d spoken of them to Sirius and Archie.</p>
<p>“Where are we meeting them?” Harry asks, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her shorts (not brewing robes, but it’ll be a little odd to meet Hermione’s muggle parents in potions-making attire. That and she doesn’t want her best robes contaminated by whatever is out there in the muggle world. True, there’s crossover at Kings Cross, but there’s crossing over, then there’s going full muggle. She hasn’t exactly had time to catalogue the fumes that come out of their motor vehicles and she won’t risk any lingering fragments contaminating her potions.</p>
<p>“Forest of Dean. Hermione said her parents used to take her camping there all the time. Dad, you got the tent?”</p>
<p>“Yep! It’s the big one that doesn’t smell of wet dog.”</p>
<p>“It only smells of wet dog because you went for a swim in the lake. As a dog.  And didn’t dry off outside. You know, like sensible people would.”</p>
<p>“Please, wait till we go for a swim together. You’ll understand then.” Sirius barks off a laugh, ruffling Archie’s hair and Harry takes a quick step back before he can think to do it to her. In the early hours of the morning, Lily had sat her down on the living room floor and painstakingly worked her still relatively short hair into a braid along her forehead, just enough to hold the rest of the half curls back from getting in her face. It’s actually incredibly practical; Harry has every intention of figuring out how to do it herself because it even gets the little wispy hairs at the hairline around her ears and forehead, the ones that always stick to her brow whenever she gets sweaty. She does not want Sirius undoing all of her mother’s hard work.</p>
<p>“Shall we get going then?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Forest of Dean is in Gloucestershire, a section of England that Harry’s never actually visited before. In truth, there’s a few places she’s never been in her own country, nevermind the fact she’s not actually set foot on foreign soil before. They’ve never actually gone out of the country for a holiday, even though she knows for a fact Sirius owns a lovely little isle somewhere in the Caribbean. It’s not even a Black family property, that one. As Sirius has often boasted to her father, he won that one in the most high-stakes card game Harry has ever heard of. That he just so happened to have lost his mother’s best pearl necklace that’d been in the family for seven generations, well, Sirius hadn’t been particularly upset after losing that bet.</p>
<p>“Gotten better with the apperating reactions there, Harry.”</p>
<p>“Practice,” Harry retorts with a grin, taking great pleasure in the way Sirius’ eyes narrow, as if trying to figure out if she’s being honest or just pulling his leg. One of the only good outcomes of the ruse to her family (barring the fact she’s no longer having to pose as Rigel to them on the odd occasion) is that Sirius and James metric for what Harry and Archie would dare to do is no longer appropriately calibrated. She claim she’s up to a number of illicit activities and now they honestly can not tell if she’s being truthful or taking the mick. She knows for a fact Archie’s taken advantage of this to claim all sorts of mischief, from going out to purchase alcohol (false) to ‘Sirius Black’ going for a manicure at one of the high-end spas just off Diagon Alley (true). Harry… well, Harry hasn’t done anything particularly loud to alert their parents yet and she has no plans to do so. The worst thing to happen recently is her ‘kidnapped’, but that’d quite literally all been within her head, that’s the Dom the construct.</p>
<p>“Archie! Harry! Over here!” And there’s Hermione, her wild hair falling free around her shoulders and some pale kind of cream smeared across her red cheeks. Archie is instantly full of vigour, bouncing off towards the girl and leaving Harry standing beside Sirius, worrying her lip between her teeth.</p>
<p>“Might be moving to America after all,” Sirius mutters, perhaps mostly to himself but Harry hears him anyway. Her uncle is looking after Archie with a wistful glint to his eyes and Harry grimaces. The last thing she wants to do is begin discussing plans for the future. Romantic plans for the future. It’s quite clear right now that Archie has his sights utterly set on Hermione and it’s something Harry welcomes. With Archie falling all over himself for Hermione, then their marriage contract will amount to nothing by the time they’re both of age. While Riddle’s law hangs like the Sword of Damocles over the heads of many halfbloods, there’s not much he can do about Harry’s own marriage contract, a legally binding document that’d already been put in place prior to his damn law coming into effect. They’ll have to get the same lawyer who drew up their contract to check the law over, see what the repercussions of breaking their betrothal would be.</p>
<p>Perhaps Archie and Sirius will move to America for a bit, long enough that Archie and Hermione can marry and begin a life together. She’s not yet read over the law that Riddle rammed through the courts; is it illegal for a pureblood to marry a muggleborn now? She’d have to look into it. She also needs to see if it’s illegal for her to not marry. Oh, she’s pretty certain she’s supposed to be pushed towards purebloods, Riddle had mentioned that blasted algorithm about pairing people off (which in itself is a blatant crime of morality) but he’d never said what would happen if the halfblood turned around and told him no.</p>
<p>She’s never wanted to get married before, hasn’t had any interest in it. No law in the world is going to forcibly change her mind on that account. Harry has absolutely zero intention of becoming some kind of baby-making factory, which is what Riddle seems to think is the only thing half-bloods are good for right now. Ironic, given his own blood status. But, there’s not much point in worrying about it all at precisely this moment in time.</p>
<p>“Have you met Hermione’s parents yet?” Harry asks quietly, watching Sirius’ head snap around to look at her.</p>
<p>“Just when they brought her around to talk to Archie,” Sirius admits, scratching at his head and looking sheepish, “might have thrown too many wizarding references at them; they looked a bit out of their depths.”</p>
<p>“Well, more exposure can only help, right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After Harry introduces herself to Hermione’s parents as the actual Harry (and yes, she is the one that helped their daughter get the little summer job at the clinic), they settle around a fire pit to roast marshmallows on a stick. It’s not something Harry has ever done before; if she wanted something toasting, then her mum or dad would have cast a quick spell. Still, there’s something remarkably fun about stabbing the sticky treat with a skewer to then roast above an open flame. The fire licks at the edges, leading the sweet to grow progressively darker the longer it remains in the heat. Harry pulls her skewer back, rotating it back and forth as she waits for it to cool.</p>
<p>Sirius, meanwhile, shoves his first one into his mouth and almost immediately spits it out under the account of it being too hot. It is through sheer force of will that he doesn’t make a fool of himself. Were they out with her parents, then he wouldn’t have hesitated.</p>
<p>“So, dentists look after teeth in particular?”</p>
<p>“There are a few that specialise in total oral hygiene,” Mr Granger explains, “but yes. We’re teeth, er, healers.”</p>
<p>Harry nods, politely ignoring the way he stumbles over the job description. He’s trying to adapt to the world that Hermione lives in, that much is clear. It’s good. Better than the aunt that Harry’s never met, that’s for certain. She knows she’s got a cousin on her mother’s side, a boy near enough the same age as her. But, when she thinks of the word cousin, it’s Archie that comes to mind, not a kid she’s never seen. She doesn’t even know his name.</p>
<p>“So, do you work with needles?” There is a momentary pause in conversation then, all three adults and Hermione turning to look at Harry with varying expressions. Sirius’, she knows, is confusion caused by the fact he has no idea what a needle is. The two doctor Grangers, she’s not sure about, though Hermione’s puzzled look is familiar. It’s the ‘why is Rigel asking this question’. Only, it’s Harry that’s asking a question instead and the familiarity sends an ache crashing through her chest.</p>
<p>It’s Hermione’s mother who asks the question of, “just why are you asking about needles, Harry?”</p>
<p>“I’m looking into making a potions first aid kit,” Harry admits, running a hand through her hair, “and while we have a spell that can administer a potion to the stomach, that’s not the most efficient way and not everybody knows it. A physical object like a needle could be charmed to inject the potions precisely where it’s needed, which would be helpful for people who couldn’t use it, plus it might allow for a quicker administration of more targeted potions, which could improve recovery time.”</p>
<p>In the silence that follows, Harry scans Archie’s face, waiting to hear his thoughts first and foremost. After all, she’s designing these things with the average joe in mind, but it could be an idea easily adapted and refined to be applied to his future career. From the bright grin on his face, she can only assume that he’s more than on board with the idea.</p>
<p>“You don’t have needles in the Wizarding World?” Mr Granger asks, at the exact same time Sirius claps her on the shoulder.</p>
<p>“That’s brilliant, Harry!” He turns to the Grangers, all but glowing with pride. “Harry’s an inventor; she’s made a handful of potions that we actually sell on the Marauders line and she came up with this new method for making potions that’s got the potions world buzzing quicker than a snitch.”</p>
<p>“We don’t use needles,” Harry explains, shrugging Sirius’ hand from her before he can get any ideas, like ruffling her hair. “We’ve never needed them, given magic. But, not everyone in our community can use magic on the same level that healers can. So, I’m looking into ways that can save lives immediately, without having to wait around for a healer in an emergency situation. Something that can help keep a person alive until a professional gets there, or ways to treat simple maladies at home. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let me know where I could get a few needles?”</p>
<p>Mr Granger clears his throat, looking to his wife and then to Hermione, who seems about ready to burst with questions, before he nods. “If you stop by our practice over the summer, with an adult, then I don’t see the harm in giving you one or two. Will full parental permission, that is.” Right. So, Harry is definitely taking Lily to that one. Still, this is progress, which is great. Something to continue investigating when she’s shipped off to AIM. Given their potions track, she’ll need something to tide her over until she can get back to the Guild.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
<p> </p>
<p>[HpHpHp]</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She starts her little class back up in the Alleys. Given that her house arrest has been lifted with only a few restrictions remaining (namely, the board dictating where she is going, even if she omits some locations by remaining vague). Now that she’s free to roam, so to speak, Harry finds herself out of the house more often than not. Even then, of the time she spends at home, a fair chunk is eaten up by her physical fitness training with Remus, along with her duelling practice. For all that most of it occurs in the training room, Remus does occasionally take her out into the garden to run laps. Harry takes great pains to make sure this is noted on the board, despite both parents insisting this isn’t necessary.</p>
<p>Ever since he’d found out about her free duelling, her much beloved uncle had quietly agreed to helping her practice on that front as well, but only if James, Lily and Sirius were all out of the house. It had come under the agreement that she wouldn’t enter another tournament while she was underaged (which Harry had fervently agreed to; she’s found she’s had quite enough of tournaments for the time being, all thanks to Riddle) and the express clarification that Remus was only teaching her because she seems to have developed an attitude to stumbling into trouble. Given what he knows of her adventures in the Lower Alleys and in regards to the attacks that are happening there… well, Harry’s just glad her uncle seems to have accepted she won’t stop visiting the Lower Alleys just because it would be safer to not do so. What with the adventures the Marauders got up to in their wilder years, Remus probably thinks he only has so much of the high ground to stand on and lecture her from and, if he stays up there too long and she looks too closely, it’ll all crumble beneath his feet. That’s fine with her.</p>
<p>On this particular afternoon, she’s once again in the courtyard of the Dancing Phoenix, finishing up with her second class of the day. They had been quiet and respectful; she didn’t fail to notice that there were more faces present than their hand been last year. Perhaps that’d come as a result of her showing in the tournament, or perhaps they’d come to goggle at the new face. Either way, it didn’t matter to Harry. She was sharing her knowledge; that was all she cared about.</p>
<p>“There are three main kinds of contraceptive potions to prevent pregnancy: one that the woman takes the day after the onset of their period and it lasts for a full cycle; the second kind is taken up to three days after intercourse, and the third potion can be taken up to 3 months afterwards, but this one is more expensive and is more likely to have side-effects.”</p>
<p>Waving off the last of the teens that had turned up for her little class, Harry lifts both of her hands up and over her head, stretching out her back. It’s relatively late; she’d taught the younger children in afternoon and her evening class had been a mixed turnout of adults and teens, though it’d been a small group of the latter that stuck around to ask questions. She doesn’t mind answering their questions, even if it had been a little awkward to have girls only a year or two older than her asking how they should go about ensuring if a contraceptive potion is genuine or not.</p>
<p>It’d been a bit of a punch to the face to realise, yes, people her age are interested in and are probably even having sex. Knowing about puberty and attraction, seeing it in action during her time at Hogwarts, is a whole other ball game to this. It’s... discomforting. Especially when recalling the age gaps between generations of the people on the Black family tree Sirius had shown her. Intellectually, she knows it’s to do with the Fade, but it still doesn’t change the fact that some of Sirius’ blood relatives had been the same age as her when they’d had their first born, if not younger. Luckily enough, she’s not going to be in that position. Ever.</p>
<p>Adjusting the hem of her shirt, Harry exits the little classroom she’s made herself, stepping out into the Lower Alleys to gauge how close the sun is to the horizon. The shadows are beginning to stretch longingly to the east, tucking the cobblestones beneath their dark blanket. Not quite late enough for the lampposts to come on, but it’s certainly not far off. She has time to visit Maywell though. She’s been meaning to pop by and ask which potions the residents have the hardest time acquiring, or if there are potions that Mrs. Hurst wishes she could prescribe, just so she has an idea of what to make for her future stall at the festival. She’s already slid Leo the coins to pay her fare, all that remains is to ask Archie to join her in promoting her potions to the masses. Maybe she’ll angle it to him as something to do with knowing how to approach people correctly; that’s a skill any healer needs, isn’t it?</p>
<p>Harry meanders down the streets of the Lower Alleys, passing by the Phoenix and sending Margo a firm frown when she spots the other girl still out and about, despite having attended the potions lesson earlier and promising Harry she would be getting home on time. For a moment, Cora and her troop spring to the forefront of Harry’s mind and she smiles. Maybe she’ll see the girl at the festival; it is something where she’d get a good deal of work, isn’t it? It’s been nearly a year since the girl had come so close to dying, a year since she and Leo had brewed a potion that they weren’t supposed to in order to save her life. She’d given up her one basilisk scale for that but Harry could never, ever regret it. It was one of the reasons she wants to become a potions mistress. To help, to continue helping. To progress the field in any and every way she can.</p>
<p>She needs to contact Master Snape soon to ask after their apprenticeship. She’s aware the other will no doubt have been informed her punishment is over, so, with any luck, they can get back to work as soon as possible. She wants his opinion on her first aid field kits, along with the home version. She’s already got a cream in the works to fix a broken nose, imbued with an Episkey charm. She’s not exactly in a hurry to test that one herself though.</p>
<p>Harry turns onto the road Maywell stands on just as the streetlamps flicker to life, casting their soft orange glow on the world around them. The sky is just starting to turn a strange mixture between Dawdle Draught and Babbling Beverage, long wisp of clouds creating a step like pattern to rise up from the horizon. She’s pleased to find the clinic itself looks quiet, only two other people sitting within the waiting room. Harry goes right up to the front desk, a smile lighting her face when she realises it’s Flint’s mother there. Merriam looks well and there’s an air about her that makes her look right at home. Confident. She looks confident. It’s such a stark difference to the woman Marcus had once ushered to her flat that Harry takes a moment to appreciate it. Right here is another good thing to come from the ruse; she helped this woman into a better life, one with independence and safety and, if things continue to go right for her, maybe even love. If Merriam wants it, that is.</p>
<p>“Good evening, Merriam. I hope you’re well. It’s me, Harry Potter, by the way.”</p>
<p>“Oh! Mrs Hurst said your Polyjuice had worn off,” Merriam smiles, brushing the bangs back from where they frame her face. She’s had a haircut. It suits her. “You’re very beautiful, Harry.”</p>
<p>“Thanks; the new haircut is nice; maybe you can recommend me the place once my own starts getting too long? Is Mrs Hurst about? I’ve got a few questions about your potions stock.”</p>
<p>“She’s just talking with her husband, he’s popped by for a visit, but she’s told me it’s fine to go and fetch her if someone comes looking.” That’s great news; with Master Hurst here, she can discuss getting the handful of glamour potions she’s started on checked over, saving her a trip to the Guild tomorrow. He’ll at least be able to tell her if they’re willing to check them over and, given they’ve gone through her work before, she’s hoping the answer will be a yes. Who knows, maybe they’ll see potential in one of them and another potions master will chase the idea further. This is only something to keep her skills sharp; in the face of her potions first aid kit idea, the cosmetic side of it doesn’t hold that much of her interest, for all that it is one of the biggest branches of potions and, outside of the medical ones, the biggest earner. At least she knows if she’s ever running short of cash, she can start flogging some of those.</p>
<p>“Would you like me to take you to her room, Harry?”</p>
<p>“That’s fine, Merriam, I know the way. Thank you for the offer though.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It doesn’t take her long to reach the room in question; the door is open and Leo’s parents are sitting at Mrs Hurst’s desk, each with a cup of tea steaming on a saucer. It’s Mrs Hurst that sees her first, smile blooming across her face as easily as she rises to her feet.</p>
<p>“Harry, what a wonderful surprise. You’re not here for treatment, are you?”</p>
<p>“No, Mrs Hurst. I’m here to talk potions actually.”</p>
<p>“Now that isn’t a surprise,” Master Hurst says with a laugh, turning in his chair to regard her with a smile. “It’s no wonder Leo tagged along to that last ball with you looking like that.” Harry smiles back, though the expression is now starting to become tight with how often she’s having to stretch it across her lips in reply to this particular phrase.</p>
<p>Leo had expressed an interest in her back when she’d been under Polyjuice, back before he’d even known about the Polyjuice. She just doesn’t understand what it is about her real face that seems to keep attracting these comments. She’s seen it in the mirror plenty of times now, has had time to assess the bright green of her eyes, the straight line of her nose, the soft curve of her cheeks. Admittedly, her eyebrows do look a bit better now that Lily has tidied them up a bit, though that’s more an aesthetic thing than anything else. After all, eyebrows have never interfered with her vision when duelling, not like the actual hair on her head.</p>
<p>Part of her is aware that how women are expected to style their face is similar to how non-potioneers believe potions should appear; the more impressive it is, the more likely they are to pay it attention without understanding what is does. As a potioneer herself though, Harry is of the firm opinion it’s the substance, the thing within that should do the selling, just as it should be when picking a potential partner. And… it seems Leo, at least, agrees with that means of thought. After all, he’d made his intentions clear when she didn’t have this face everyone else has taken to calling pretty. Harry’s just, not sure how to respond to it.</p>
<p>“I was just wondering which potions are commonly used at Maywell, and, if some potions were to suddenly become available at a discount price for the people of the Lower Alleys for a short period of time, which ones you think would be the best for people to home stock.”</p>
<p>Master Hurst’s upper lip twitches with what Harry assumes to be a suppressed grin, turning to look at his wife with a twinkle in his eye before he returns his gaze to her. “Doing a bit of charity work are we, Harry?” For all of her husband’s words though, it’s clear that Leo’s mother recognises exactly how she’s going to be distributing the potions to the people of the Lower Alley. She’s not quite sure how Leo’s father still doesn’t know about his kingship, but Harry’s hardly going to be the person to point it out to him. Not when her friend has already started covering for her ruse. To do so would be doing Leo a disservice and she owes her friend so much more than she can already give. Hence her help at the festival. Besides, the people of the Lower Alley deserve her help too; she’d be doing this even if Leo wasn’t part of the equation.</p>
<p>She takes out a quill and her notebook when Mrs Hurst begins reeling off the list of potions they use at Maywell, underlying the more magically taxing ones (for she has magic to spare) and putting a little star next to the ones that she says are most commonly used (the ones she’ll make in a big batch while the others simmer). There are only two on the list that she’s never brewed before, though she has the recipe for both. Primarily, it’s because she didn’t have any need to regrow bones, nor to reverse the onset of Tinkerntia and it’d have been a waste to make them. Now that she knows the Maywell occasionally uses them, however, she’ll get right on it.</p>
<p>Once she’s completed her list, Harry turns to the Aldermaster of the Guild, offering up her friendliest smile. That, she supposes, is another bonus to this face of hers; its features lend itself to softer smiles with no true effort on her part.</p>
<p>“Master Hurst? I’ve got another potions idea. Do you think there’d be someone willing to check it over in the next week or so?” She’s confident that one week of work will be enough to test the magic in the potions and modify the recipe. Knowing if a potion will do exactly as intended or if it’ll go wrong is a sense that she’s spent years developing with her magic now; she’s quite sure that she can get her first prototype of the first-aid kit working near perfectly. Getting a potions master to check it over and make sure it’s fit for purpose, that it’ll work as a temporary healing measure and that it’d be effective is another matter entirely. While she’s sure that she could give it to Leo for the next simpleton to challenge him for his crown, she’s sure there’s some moral issues with testing on unsuspecting patients.</p>
<p>“Given the ideas you’ve been throwing at us ever since your internship, I’d be more than happy to be the first one to check your latest advancement, Harry,” Master Hurst says with a laugh and Harry smiles back. It’s not like she’s devised an entirely different way of brewing like she had done during her internship, even if she is using the process to further her current idea. Both Master Thomas and Master Snape had been impressed with shape imbuing, with even Caelum Lestrange poking and prodding her into showing him how to do it. There’s not a lot of people who can do it and, while it grates that Master Snape has advised her to not go around handing out her ideas until he’s made short work of all the legal and theoretical side of it (because being sued for malpractice before she’s even got her mastery is the last thing she needs), she assumes showing Master Hurst won’t be a problem.</p>
<p>Besides, the more people who can do it, the more people there will be who can experiment on it.</p>
<p>“In fact,” Master Hurst continues, placing his near empty cup of tea onto the saucer, “I do believe I am free next Wednesday. Does this suit you?”</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t get a chance to respond. That’s when the explosion tears through Maywell.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’s on the floor, dust and debris scatter around her and there’s a stinging in her left arm, for all that the hungry red glow of the Depasco shield seems to have caught the majority of it. She’s still been blown off of her feet though, is still sprawled out on the floor and Harry grits her teeth, pushing herself up to her feet. Both of Leo’s parents are within the bubble of her aggressive shield, thankfully nowhere near the magic itself and Harry forces it to power down. This has the uncomfortable effect of allowing the clouds of dust, dust and smoke, to begin filling in the once protected space. Harry’s much more concerned with checking on the other two in the room though.</p>
<p>Both Mr and Mrs Hurst are conscious, though their pale skin and enlarged pupils hint towards shock, as does the sharp buzz of their discomforted magic.</p>
<p>“Are you both okay?” Harry asks, snapping both of her hands in front of their faces, watching their eyes focus in on her fingers. Okay, still responsive, that’s good. She looks around, taking in the fact the wall that’d been to her back is now no longer present, instead crumpled into a pile of plaster and bricks that’re scattered across the floor. There are screams coming down from the corridor.</p>
<p>Harry rockets back up from the crouch she’s fallen into, wand snapping out of the cheap holster she’d gotten to replace the Malfoy gauntlets she now dearly wishes she’d had the time to disguise in the same manner as her wand. That’s the first thing she’ll do once she’s gotten out of this mess. Harry spots the figure in dark robes at the same moment they spot her, wand held aloft and face hidden behind a porcelain skull mask.</p>
<p>“Avada Kedavra!”</p>
<p>She’s never seen the killing curse before, has never heard the incantation spoken aloud. But she’s read about it, has seen the colour depicted within spell books she most certainly should not have gotten her hands on. And she’s a good enough duellist to recognise that the spell isn’t aimed for her, but for the Hursts. She doesn’t know which one, doesn’t care. Her magic reacts instinctively, pulling up a chunk of the flooring that gets blown to bits only moments later under the impact. She’s not sure if the masked assailant (the Hursts would-be murderer) is too shocked by the fact his attack didn’t land or that it was blocked without the wave of a wand. Harry doesn’t care. She fires off three spells in quick succession; a Bombarda she fully expects to be blocked, a stunner that’s sailing under the first, and then one healers use to put their patients into stasis. If her stunner misses, that’ll be the one to get him and if they both land? Well, he deserves the splitting migraine that he’ll be waking up to. Along with the cell he’ll be in.</p>
<p>“Harry, what-” Mr. Hurst staggers out from the debris that used to be the wall, clearly shaken.</p>
<p>“We’re under attack,” Harry cuts in, cursing herself for not carrying the mirror so she could contact Archie, then her cousin would be able to alert Sirius or James and then they’d have some professionals on the scene instead of just Harry who’s a good track record of crawling out of things alive but never when having to protect this many people. Merlin, how many people are there here who are unconscious or unable to move? Too many, too many.</p>
<p>“Master Hurst, you need to alert the aurors.”</p>
<p>She doesn’t stick around to make sure he does so.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry spread her awareness to the limits and takes off down the corridor, once again thankful for the comfort of her brewing boots; the support they offer her ankles as she makes her way over the debris is invaluable. A broken ankle would put her down and, speaking of injuries-</p>
<p>With a grunt, Harry pulls the piece of wood free from her left arm where it must have gotten embedded in the explosion, healing the wound with a swift flick of her wand. She can feel the tide of her magic smashed against the shores of her consciousness, more than eager to roar out and attack, to hit the opponent with all the verifiable force of a tsunami.</p>
<p>She skids around the corner of the corridor into the reception, finding Merriam conscious but hiding behind the counter, tears leaking down her cheeks and both hands pressed to her mouth to stop any sound from escaping. Harry doesn’t have much more time than that to take in the scene; the Depasco shield snaps to life again, eating the two curses that had been flung her way by the masked men. She doesn’t recognise them, but by the way Dom rises with fury inside her mind, she knows enough to gather they’re not friendly. In the next moment, Harry engages with them both, asking her magic to reel the two unconscious bodies that’d been sitting nicely in the waiting room when she arrived out of the way, directing it to place them near Merriam. She hopes the other woman knows some basic first aid by now.</p>
<p>She blocks two more spells of questionable origin, recognises the Bombarda curse and counters it before she apparates with a crack. Unlike Saint Mungo’s, Maywell doesn’t have the money nor the need to erect anti-apparition wards. These attackers clearly haven’t done their research well if they’d expected them to be present; with any luck, that means the patients that can will already be fleeing.</p>
<p>Harry lands behind the duo, slamming twin stunners that are just a bit overpowered into their backs, summoning their wands next. It is only after a moment’s thought that she transfigures part of the debris into cuffs, bolting them to the floor the moment they are around the wrists of their attackers. With her magic leaking out of her form, scanning the room for any sign of threat, Harry turns her attentions to outside the building. And it’s there, she spots him.</p>
<p>She can’t quite describe how she recognises him, can’t quite tell what it is that allows her to make the connection, but she’s certain that it’s the Construct. There’s something about the posture, the intent behind the magic that roars beneath his skin that makes Harry instinctively turn to fight-or-flight. Their eyes lock and Harry can only hope that like doesn’t recognise like on his side of things.</p>
<p>Whatever fixation that exists between the two of them in that moment disappears in the next when Harry hears a high pitched, near manic laughter and folds into a duck and roll by instinct alone. The curse that shoots over her head sears the wall behind her, the plaster melting far too fast and she shudders to think what would have happened had it hit her. Harry comes up with a Fortis in place, pumping the shield full of as much magic as she can without contorting it. It’s anchored to her wand, so when she darts out of the way of the next spell, it moves with her. She’s shifted just enough so the spell will miss her, but it hits the Fortis and bounces off. So, the lilac spell that moves quick is one she can block.</p>
<p>Harry scans the figure in black (the same ones from the World Cup, they’d called themselves Death Eaters, hadn’t they?) as she exhales, free hand finding the potions knife she keeps concealed in her boot. It’s hardly her duelling knife, but she feels better with her fingers wrapped around that handle, but her potions knife will have to do. This is pretty much just the free duelling tournament from last year, she tells herself, only with infinitely higher stakes. She’s got the Death Eater in front of her and Merriam and two patients to defend behind her, not to mention that the Riddle construct is- is gone.</p>
<p>Gritting her teeth Harry leaps sideways as a spell whips through the air towards her, snapping against the receptionist desk and eating through it.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” she hisses, banking forwards and firing off three tripping jinxes, keeping her aim wide enough that the Death Eater will have to move to avoid all of them. She needs to keep up a punishing pace, to not allow them a single opening. Harry summons up scattered bricks and rubble that’s littering the room, launching it all at her opponent one after the other, each subsequent one quicker than the batch that came before it. All the while, she makes her way closer, twirling her knife back into an icepick grip. This opponent is better than the other two; they must have professional training for duelling, that much is evident, and they’ve the magical power to back up their attacks, blasting the bricks Harry had banished at them with better precision and power than she’d have expected. But that’s fine; Harry’s had time to prepare her next advance. She just needs to keep them focused.</p>
<p>Beneath her feet, the floor turns to ice, stretching out until the entire entryway is covered in a thick layer of frozen water. Her own boots are charmed to keep a grip, to not slip in the slightest. Given how recently the Triwizard Tournament had been, given that it had been televised across the Wizarding World, it won’t seem like she’d stolen this idea by actually taking part. She’d seen how Tahiil had struggled with the sudden change of environment and that’s what Harry is banking on.</p>
<p>Just as she’d hoped, the masked assailant flails, footing unsure on the new terrain and Harry takes the opportunity to get closer. She knows the duelling stance, recognises it to be of the same breed as Draco’s; the kind of picture perfect you’d find on the professional circuit. Which means she’s up against someone with enough money for good tutoring but who has no connections to the Aurors because the first thing James had taught her was to keep yourself light on your feet, no matter the stance you take.</p>
<p>And, given her Death Eater attacker is most probably a pureblood? They won’t be expecting free duelling tactics.</p>
<p>The ice around her opponent’s feet is melted by this point thanks to a quick bit of wand work (walnut or alder, with a distinctive curve to it) but it’s too late; Harry’s up in their face, leading with a swing of her knife hand. The Death Eater manages to pull their arm back to avoid a deep slice, but her blade cuts through the flowing black fabric of the attacker’s cloak, exposing a pale forearm marred with a black tattoo of, a snake? She doesn’t have time to try and decipher that, though based on the limb (lack of significant hair, slender and with delicate looking wrists) she’s quite possibly fighting another woman. They’ve not exactly done anything other than release a high-pitched cackle and that doesn’t exactly strike ‘male’ from her list of suspects. Harry twists on one foot, lashing out with a roundhouse kick and her opponent hisses when the blow strikes true in her side (she’s sure it’s a woman now), forcing her out of that duelling stance.</p>
<p>The woman reaches for her wand but Harry’s there first with her own.</p>
<p>“Accio, mask!” They’re wearing the robes and mask for anonymity, not just to spread fear but to also protect their identities because what they’re doing is most certainly illegal. It’s a guess that’s confirmed for Harry when the woman abandons the slash of her spellwork to instead clutch at her mask, holding it to her face. Harry takes the opportunity to plunge her knife into the woman’s wand hand, confirming her as female when she shrikes. While she’s focused on that, Harry pulls out her knife and slams her with a vastly overpowered Depulso, forcing the Death Eater out of the building. Harry wants to give chase, wants to hammer the woman and ensure she’s unconscious like the other two currently bolted and, er, frozen to the floor. But she needs to secure the building, to make sure Merriam and the other two are safe.</p>
<p>‘Build the wall’, Harry thinks with desperation, reaching for her magic and feeling it roar beneath her skin with the request. ‘Put the wall back up and reinforce it’. There’s a pause, followed by the bricks rising, the dust reforming and even the cobblestones that make up the street crawling to fill in the gap. It only takes a breath, maybe too, but then there’s a wall at the front of the building again, absent of a door but all but glowing with the magic Harry has pushed into it and it’s still going, still reinforcing. Harry reaches for her magic, prompting it to coiling into a Fortis that she then sends towards the still transfiguring wall, watching the stonework begin to glow with the new addition.</p>
<p>“Merriam? Are you alright?” Turning on her heels, Harry inspects her potions knife, already resigned to the fact she’ll have to get another one, especially given the fact it has human blood on it. Human blood that can be used to trace the woman who attacked them. Harry scrambles for a vial, finding one of several sprayed across the floor, probably from the explosion. Holding the tip of her blade to the vial, Harry wills her magic to encourage the liquid to drip down, corking the container the second it’s done. There. Evidence. They’re going to get at least one person, that much is for certain.</p>
<p>“I- I’m okay,” Merriam splutters, not sounding okay in the slightest but at least she’s conscious and responding. Harry can hear her through the quiet of the room. In fact, it’s quiet all around.</p>
<p>“Merriam, hold onto this vial. It’s got the blood of the one who attacked us at the end there. I’m going to go and check that everything is okay.” Because quiet means there’s no fighting, which means the Death Eaters have all been chased off, or they’ve won. Surely news of the attack will have gotten to the Aurors or to Leo, if not both by now. The Construct may be dangerous, but it hadn’t been directly involved. Just… watching.</p>
<p>Swallowing around the worried lump in her throat, Harry presses the vial into Merriam’s hands, unsheathing her wand again, knife in hand as she makes for the corridor.</p>
<p>The last person she’s expecting to see around the corner is James Potter in full Auror garb.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Huddled under a blanket and sitting beside Merriam, Harry keeps her chin tucked tight to her collarbones, letting the adrenaline leak out of her limbs bit by bit. The Aurors are here and she knows from hearing them talking about the ‘guy in red’ who took down five of the Death Eaters before vanishing into the streets that Leo had been on the scene too, even if he’s had to scamper in his ‘King of Rogue’ role. She doesn’t doubt he’ll be along soon enough as the ‘worried son’, fretting over what has occurred in his mother’s clinic. Merlin, the clinic.</p>
<p>For all that Harry has reconstructed the front wall, there’s no door now, no way out onto the street, even if the fireplace and the two back doors that she knows of still exist. One of the Aurors, a newbie that Harry doesn’t recognise, had tried to transfigure a door back in and… her spellwork seems to have eaten his efforts. It’s still glowing with the Fortis shield that she’d imbued in without actually thinking about it. All she’d wanted to do was to ensure the Death Eater wouldn’t be able to get back in. She hadn’t expected the spell to linger this long… could it be that shape imbuing worked with transfigurations too? Was that even possible without a base? Or, did the transfiguration act as a base all on its own?</p>
<p>“Harry?”</p>
<p>Lifting her eyes to look at Merriam, Harry drums up her best smile, even if it feels a little shaky. It’s not the first time she’s been attacked; there’d been the Construct’s kidnapping attempt, Pettigrew, the Triwizard Tournament as a whole.</p>
<p>But, it’s the first time it’s happen somewhere she’d believed herself to be safe, somewhere where those things didn’t happen to Harry Potter. No, those kinds of attacks belong in Rigel Black’s life, a life she should have nothing to do with.</p>
<p>So, why has this happened? It’s not too difficult a question to answer; for Harry, it is simply a case of wrong time, wrong place. The Clinic has obviously been targeted because of who it helps, employs, maybe even just because of its location. That Lucius Malfoy and Sirius Black had created a charity fund to target helping children from this particular background could be one of the reasons it has attracted the Construct’s attention. Which, given the presence of the Death Eaters at the World Cup, means he was behind that one too. The propaganda they’d distributed there, it’d been about pureblood and being tainted, hadn’t it? With Riddle’s marriage law having passed to encourage the ‘tainting’ of pureblood lines… she doesn’t think the Construct would take that lying down. Given that it is in no position to fight it politically, it makes a horrifying kind of sense that it would lash out with this kind of senseless violence. Only, to the Construct, it’s not senseless in the least, is it?</p>
<p>Riddle needs to know it’s the Construct behind all of this. Only, how is she supposed to get the message out to him? She’s not Rigel Black, she’s not associated with the Malfoys, she’s not welcome in any of his social circles. In fact, they’re more likely to curse her with current events than they would heed her warning. They’d probably laugh her out if she tried to organise a meeting with Riddle. Besides, Harriet Potter doesn’t know about the link between the Construct and Riddle; that’s a Rigel secret, one Riddle gave her very little leeway with releasing. While she could claim Rigel had already told her prior to that binding being made, there’s nothing to hold Riddle back from ensuring her silence on the topic. No, she cannot admit to knowing that much; it’d be tying her too thoroughly to Rigel. There has to be some other way to let him know that their mutual enemy is behind all of this.</p>
<p>“Harry!” The voice that calls her name is different this time and Harry belatedly realises she’d never actually answered Merriam.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Harry says, her voice sounding distracted to her own ears. The adrenaline is gone now and she’s tried; it’s been a long day, it’s night time and she’s been involved in two short duels and one which felt interminable. Nevermind what her magic has done to the front of the clinic. They might have to open from a different wall if she doesn’t figure out what went on there.  </p>
<p>Her dad stares down at her, worry evident in his eyes, but Harry’s pleased to see both of the Hursts are right behind him. They look fine, if a little shellshocked.</p>
<p>“Harry,” James tries again, kneeling in front of her and Harry meets his eyes, waiting for him to continue. “I’m going to need you to make a statement. You think you can do that for me?” Harry nods slowly before she snaps around to Merriam, holding out her hand. The other woman knows what she’s waiting for without needing to ask, pressing the vial she’d handed her earlier into her palm. Harry curls her fingers around it, letting the familiar, smooth curve of the glass centre her before she presents it to her dad.</p>
<p>“I had to defend myself with my potions knife at one point; I managed to get one of them and bottle the blood.”</p>
<p>“Can tell she’s your daughter, Sir,” one of the Aurors says with a grin, plucking the vial from her to inspect the small helping of blood inside. “We’ve got one of them for sure then.” Harry tries for a smile, exhaling as she does so.</p>
<p>This wasn’t an attack of Rigel. It wasn’t an attack of Harry for being associated with Rigel. True, this has come about because of the politics she’s been dragged kicking and screaming into, but it’s Riddle’s Construct that is causing the problem.</p>
<p>“Miss Potter.” At the sound of Master Hurst speaking, Harry looks up, already feeling a lump in her throat because she’s got a pretty good idea of what is coming next; she’s heard that tone too many times in her life already and the thought that it’s happening again is making her feel sick. “You saved my life tonight. I owe you a Life Debt.”</p>
<p>Merlin damn it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry doesn’t do much talking after she gives her statement, still trying to sort through everything that is swirling about in her mind. The Wizarding World is no longer safe, not just politically, but there are now literally attacks happening. It doesn’t matter that it is, so far, confined only to the Lower Alleys. She doesn’t doubt that, unless Riddle changes his tune and takes up the mantle of his old childhood dreams, the Construct will soon allow for it all to spill over into the rest of the Alleys. It has potential to stretch even further than the shopping district. What prevents it from attacking the Ministry? Hogsmeade? She won’t put Hogwarts in that list of potential disaster zones, if only because Dumbledore resides there.</p>
<p>If there’s one wizard the Construct can’t go against (excluding Riddle himself), it’ll be Dumbledore.</p>
<p>Harry sits and she waits for her father to finish up with part of the investigation. It was supposed to be his night off, she recalls. He’s already promised to take her home if she doesn’t mind waiting, so here she is, holding Merriam’s hand and listening to Mrs Hurst explain to a sympathetic Auror that nearly their entire potions supply had been destroyed in the attack. That, well, that’s something Harry can help with, isn’t it? She has a list of the most common potions they use, even though it already feels like a lifetime ago since she was asking those questions, not as if it were thirty minutes. If that.</p>
<p>In fact, she can get right on with that, can’t she? As Master Snape’s apprentice, she can book a room out in the Guild; she’d have far more space to work with and be able to transport the potions far quicker to Maywell than she would working from her basement at home. She’s already got Krait’s next batch completed, so she won’t have to worry about that either.</p>
<p>Tomorrow, Harry decides. She’s going to head to Tate’s, spend far too much money, and then, she’s going to get her head lost in the brewing process for the next few days. She’ll help out in any way she can because, damn it, that’s what she’s supposed to do as a potioneer. Resolve firmed, Harry rises to her feet as James comes over, more than ready to go home. And it’s just in time too; she’s quite certain that’s Rita Skeeter stumbling through the dusty corridor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
<p> </p>
<p>[HpHpHp]</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next morning finds her bright and early at Tate’s. Coming down from the high of Maywell being attacked had allowed Harry the opportunity to develop something of a game plan, a way to organise her thoughts, even as she’d showered to wash all of the brick dust, plaster and other bits of detritus from her body. Once she had slept, James had been kind enough to fill her in on everything she’d been too distracted to think about and answer all the questions she’d been too busy puzzling over herself to ask. It turned out he’d seen to Mr and Mrs Hurst before he had come to her; they’d already told him she was there to ask after their potions stock with the intent of helping bolster their shelves while practicing her own skills. They also told him how she’d saved Master Hurst’s life, who had been the intended recipient of the killing curse.</p>
<p>The fact that James hadn’t immediately banned her from going to the Lower Alleys when she’d been in such close proximity to that curse was a miracle in and of itself. They had apprehended all three of Harry’s downed opponents, though the woman had gotten away. Not for long, her father had promised, what with the blood she’d managed to draw and bottle. The Auror division would be hiring a potions master to brew the correct potion to identify her assailant. An added bonus was that the ‘figure in red’ who’d taken down five of the other Death Eaters had done so in such a way that the Aurors had been able to arrest them, even if Maywell’s saviour had gotten away. As it could be no one else other than Leo, it was probably a good thing. There is, after all, a big difference between someone enacting vigilante justice in the eyes of the law without knowing who they are, and then having to lie to keep your daughter’s friend from potentially getting arrested alongside those he’d fought.</p>
<p>More sobering news was that five innocent people were killed in the initial blast, with three more succumbing to their afflictions as they didn’t get the necessary care they needed, what with the healers having to fend for their own lives while under attack.</p>
<p>The attack was already in the news, though Rita Skeeter hadn’t quite managed to pin down the identity of the two teenaged saviours. Given that Harry herself was known to the Aurors, James didn’t think her obscure state would last much longer. This had then prompted him to begin a rant on how Skeeter kept getting her hands on confidential information and he’d love to know how she managed it so he could clap her in irons for it. Harry had rather stopped listening at that point, too busy listing out the vast array of ingredients she’d need for the day.</p>
<p>It was what had brought her to Tate’s, after all.</p>
<p>Hefting the more than full basket up into both arms, Harry makes for the counter, near enough waddling under the weight of her produce. Perhaps she is being a bit ambitious with just how many potions she is planning to make in the next forty-eight hours. Ambitious, but it is not an unachievable goal she has set herself. True, every moment of her time is carefully scheduled for the next two days, but it is not as if this is some frivolous task to fill her time with. Lives will depend upon how many potions she can make to restock the Maywell without the charity having to bankrupt itself. Already she knows from Sirius that he is out in force, chasing down potential donors to aid in hospital funds. Without the surplus from Lucius and Sirius opening Cora’s charity last year, the Maywell wouldn’t have even been able to afford the emergency potions they’d bought last night.</p>
<p>Archie had rapidly regaled her with all this information just this morning, pulling out a slightly-outgrown set of trainee healer robes as he stumbled about her house to get ready. Hermione had called him in to help and her cousin hadn’t even hesitated.</p>
<p>“Potter? What monstrous concoction are you creating with all of that?”</p>
<p>“Hello Caelum,” Harry absentmindedly acknowledges, not even bothering to answer his question. Instead, she reels off to Tate exactly everything that is contained within her basket, already feeling the squeeze in her coin purse. That’s fine. It’s not even her money she’s using; it’s Rigel’s. Rigel’s winning from the Triwizard tournament that she’d not dared to spend, just in case Riddle had done something particularly sneaky, such as charm it with something other than the one that had the bag appearing before the winner of the final task. She can’t imagine why he would have done so (he can’t possibly have predicted how his grand scheme would have ended), but she wouldn’t put it past him.</p>
<p>Yet, she has bigger things on her plate right now.</p>
<p>“Potter, don’t ignore me, you ingrate.”</p>
<p>Harry hands over the coins, quickly requesting Tate not bother with change and instead add it as credit to her account. Only then does she turn to face Caelum, chin tipping up into the air so that she can meet the icy blue of his eyes. “No, I am not in the process of creating a new potion, no, I don’t really have time to chat unless you want to walk and talk, and I’m on my way to the Guild to spend the entire day brewing important potions so unless it’s important?” Harry trails off, blinking sweetly up at Caelum, hoping she can use one of Rispah’s looks to daze him enough to escape. She hadn’t planned in time for a quick chat with her potions acquaintance/reluctant friend. Caelum really does need as much diverse socialising as he can possibly get and she had been doing exceptionally well on that front in truth. He’d even come to seek her out at the Malfoy ball, though that may have been more geared towards his belief that potions progress waited for no man (his mother, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely). She really doesn’t want to chance him backsliding (it’d be hell to get him back on track) but this is more important. And then, just like that, her brain makes the connection between her potion making friend and her sudden need for medical potions.</p>
<p>He must sense the incoming charity work; she can see the metaphorical hives crawling across his skin.</p>
<p>“We need to talk about your ridiculous imbuing technique; I’ve created one managed one new potion from it and I need you to verify it’s correct.”</p>
<p>“Why on earth would you need a mere apprentice like me to check over your work, Caelum?”</p>
<p>“Shut it, Potter. It’s your stupid technique; I can hardly go and bother a man as important as Master Snape with this drivel, can I? It’s nothing more than a little side project for me.” Caelum puffs up as she eyes him dubiously, but he does fall into step with her as she begins walking for the door, waving to Tate as she exits.</p>
<p>“I’d be more than happy to lend you a second set of eyes, even my brain. But, I’ve got a pretty busy schedule for the next two days when it comes to brewing. There’s a lot of potions I need to get done. So, unless you want to help…” Harry flicks her eyes up to look at him, keeping them half-hidden beneath the length of her lashes as she waits. She can see the war going on behind her eyes; Caelum torn between the revulsion of offering help to something versus his apparent need to get her to review his work. It’s nice to be consulted like this by a fellow brewer; it just shows her ability is being recognised. She can only grow from this.</p>
<p>“Fine, I’ll help you finish your order,” Caelum snaps, looking as if he dearly wishes to shove his hands into his pockets but is holding himself back from such a plebeian gesture. “What madness are you working on anyway?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ten minutes later, standing in the potions lab that Master Hurst had practically thrown her the keys for, Caelum Lestrange looks at her as if she has indeed gone mad.</p>
<p>Harry ignores his stare, instead setting up a fourth bench that she can have Caelum working on, creating Aurora’s Breath. She’s trying to ignore any potential flashbacks to her Sleeping Sickness; it wouldn’t have stopped her from brewing the potion, but it is a bit of a relief to be able to hand it off the Caelum. She’s already resigned herself to Snowhit, given it’s the more magically intensive one of the duo and, no offence to Caelum, but she’s sure that she’s the stronger of the two of them. If he had lord level magic, she doesn’t doubt for a second that the Lestrange heir would spend half of the parties he goes to bragging about it.</p>
<p>During the breaks, she has every intention of mass-producing Sweat Inducers and Fever Reliefs; they don’t require too much magic, nor does she need to give them her full attention at this stage of her career. From there, she’ll move on to the other basic medical potions before she approaches Skele-Gro. She’s never made the latter, despite it not being too big of a step up from Snowhit. Certainly, it requires a greater magical input, but Harry’s relatively confident she can brew two cauldrons of it without exhausting herself.</p>
<p>“Have you made Aurora’s Breath before, Caelum? I have the recipe here.” Harry holds out her hand and the parchment in question peels itself from the pile she has on the fifth table in the room, lazily coiling through the air towards her while she lights the cauldron fires with her other hand.</p>
<p>“Potter.” Caelum says her name slowly, as if she’s a particularly thick student who hasn’t made the connection that picking up the cauldron when it’s over the fire is a terrible idea without protective gloves. He’s looking over her schedule, the one she’d written last night as she assessed her own capabilities against the potions required and the time frame within which she’d set herself to brew. “Imbuing this many potions will kill you.”</p>
<p>“Maybe your average potioneer would die,” Harry agrees easily, already prepping her ingredients, “but I have a little more magic than most. I know my limits, Caelum.”</p>
<p>Her companion, for however long he chooses to grace her with his presence, snorts in disbelief. He doesn’t even look disgusted with his own uncouth action, too busy reviewing her timetable as if, by looking away from it, the potions upon it will have changed. His hair is slightly longer than it had been last summer, she realises, to the point it is coming dangerously close to hanging before his eyes as he tilts his head down. That’s less than ideal; any potioneer worth their porcupine quills would have that cut off already which brings up the question of just why Caelum has allowed his hair to get that long. Unless he’s taken to using some kind of tie to hold it back?</p>
<p>“Why are you making all these potions anyway? You’d think Saint Mungo’s had been attacked, given your frankly unrealistic schedule.”</p>
<p>Harry bites back a retort on how it is very much realistic and how she is most certainly aware of her limits, thank you very much. Caelum will learn soon enough. He should know by now to not underestimate her but, if he persists on doing so, she refuses to be held responsible for his bruised ego when she proves him wrong.</p>
<p>“For your information, a branch of Saint Mungo’s was attacked. Maywell is in the Lower Alleys and they don’t have the necessary funds to buy back everything that was broken in the explosion.” His nose had already scrunched up the second she had mentioned the Lower Alleys, which is quite frankly ridiculous. He’d very much enjoyed their meal out two years previously, otherwise he’d have walked out on her long before the main meals had arrived at their table. If he sticks around and helps her out, she might even treat him to a second meal afterwards. Broaden his horizons, continue his exposure with the rest of the magical world that he so oft turns his nose up at.</p>
<p>“So, you’re making them potions for free,” Caelum grunts, looking absolutely disgusted that he was in a room that had anything even remotely to do with charity work. It doesn’t appear to stop him from beginning to sort through the ingredients she’d placed upon the table, doesn’t stop him from lifting the recipe she’d written out after the Sleeping Sickness in order to peruse the instructions. That, more than anything, is what pushes Harry to continue talking.</p>
<p>“Think of the good press that we’ll get by presenting these potions to the clinic. What we’re making is hardly anything to sniff at, though it’s certainly no Seifer’s Solution.” The moment the words are out of her mouth, Harry wishes she could snatch them back.</p>
<p>As if tasting her guilt in the air, Caelum’s head swinging around to stare at her. He’s certainly no Draco Malfoy, but his glare does make it clear that they’re related. It must be a Rosier trait. It can’t come from Black blood; she’s certain Archie can’t stare that menacingly.</p>
<p>“How would a pipsqueak apprentice like you know how difficult Seifer’s Solution is.” It’s not a question, more a statement or demand and Harry forces a smile to her face, resolutely returning her attention to her ingredients and determinedly affecting a disinterested air.</p>
<p>“I’ve been doing some reading.”</p>
<p>“Bullshit. That’s a potion recipe you don’t come across by just ‘doing some reading’. You need a basilisk scale for that and I know for a fact that Guild isn’t handing them out to the riffraff.”</p>
<p>“Did they deny your request to experiment with them?” Harry asks, voice sweet as honey, and despite Caelum’s denials, she notes the tips of his ears are red. What an adorable tell. She’ll have to tease him about that later, when she doesn’t need his potion making talents.</p>
<p>“Shut up, Potter.” The steady thumping of a knife on chopping board follows his grumble, the scent of freshly chopped ginseng beginning to bloom in the air between them. “I am going to stay right here and brew with you, so that when you drop from magically exhaustion, I can laugh in your overachieving face.” Caelum doesn’t look up from his task, so he doesn’t catch the sweet smile that Harry fires his way. It doesn’t matter though. She knows exactly how that is going to turn out and the cards won’t be falling the way Caelum expects, that’s for sure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unfortunately, Caelum has yet to shake that irritating habit of grunting whenever he completes a step in the potion successfully. She’d rather hoped Master Whitaker would have encouraged the death of that habit but it seems that hope was in vain. At the very least, it’s a form of non-verbal communication that her surprise aid is doing exactly what she’d asked of him; brewing two cauldrons of Aurora’s simultaneously. She doesn’t have much more time to think beyond that, too busy juggling the two cauldrons of Snowhit and the three cauldrons of simple Burn Paste she’s got going. It’s not beyond her, but it does require all of her attention.</p>
<p>The news had reported that more than just Maywell had been attacked, though the black robed figures (the Death Eaters) had only been present in the attack at the clinic. The rest had just been pre-set explosions and there is no doubt that there’ll be need for Burn Paste.</p>
<p>What is comforting is the near-silence that they work in, broken only by the crackle of their cauldron flames, the soft sound of knife of wood or stirring rod through liquid. This is one of the reasons she likes Caelum, Harry recalls. She holds all of her friends, both the ones she has made as Rigel and the ones she has gathered as Harry, dear to her heart. Caelum is the only one that understands her love for potions though, the only one who shares that adoration for the discipline. It’s why she put up with his churlish attitude to begin with, even if he’s managed to tone it down after three years of exposure to just being prickly now.</p>
<p>Still working on the cauldrons of Burn Paste, Harry reaches out for the Snowhit with her magic, imbuing the potions until they are saturated. By now, the process is nothing more than flexing a well-trained muscle, something she can do from one table over. That, however, seems to be too much for Caelum to remain silent on.</p>
<p>“Potter, you freak of nature, how are you doing that?” he hisses, having just let go of his own stirring rod, finished with the two batches of Aurora’s. He snuffs out the flame a moment later, ignoring the cauldrons to stride over and inspect the two cauldrons she’s just completed herself, his far too pretty face twisted with disbelief as he inspects her perfect potions. “Have you tested your magical output? What was it?” Harry grimaces. Rigel’s magical output had been 1.3, significantly above average. Harriet Potter, however, has never undergone such a test and she is dearly hoping that her continual use of Polyjuice potion didn’t eat up a portion of her reserves. Otherwise she’ll be even closer to Dumbledore’s level, which is the last thing she wants. One only needs to look at how often Dumbledore is bothered by everyone at large to know exactly why Harry hopes her own output has remained at 1.3.</p>
<p>She settles for honesty. “The closest I-” as Harriet Potter, not as Rigel Black. “have come to one of those tests is the colour one.”</p>
<p>“Blue, I’m assuming? My own was a particularly royal cobalt, not that such a thing was a surprise, of course.”</p>
<p>“It was more plum like, actually.”</p>
<p>“Plum- you mean your gauge turned purple!” Caelum hisses, his head snapping around to assess her, as if he could actually see the bubbling well of magic that rested at her core. There is no point in hiding her own magic levels anymore, not if she wants to be taken seriously by the Guild. If they know the true depths of her magic, then perhaps they won’t look as worried as Master Hurst had done this morning when she explained her estimated production rate prior to her trip to Tate’s.</p>
<p>Sniffing, Caelum looks over her Burn Paste too and Harry tries not to bristle in offense. He’s probably doing it to irritate her and she won’t bite.</p>
<p>“Don’t try to impress your betters through lies, Halfblood.”</p>
<p>“Why would I lie about something so easy to prove? Don’t push your feelings of inadequacy onto me, Caelum. Even your family, as removed as you are from the other half of society, must have heard that my mother is more powerful than most.” If there was one thing that society knew as a whole about Lily Potter, it was that her powerful magic was not something to be ignored. She’d heard enough stories of how it’d reacted to her father in their youth to know there’d have been more than a handful of witnesses to attest to her mother’s power.</p>
<p>Whatever he’s about to say is lost, for Master Hurst appears in the doorway and Caelum’s mouth snaps shut.</p>
<p>“Mr Lestrange.” He blinks once, clearly surprised by Caelum’s presence in the lab before his face breaks out into a grin. “Harry never mentioned you’d also be lending your potions expertise to a good cause. If I’d have known, I’d have brought more takeout.” He holds up the bag in his hand like an offering and Harry finishes off the last cauldron of Burn Paste, putting out the fires with a sweep of one hand.</p>
<p>“You didn’t have to grab me anything to eat, Master Hurst.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense, Harry. If you hadn’t been there last night, there’s every chance Eleni would have died. I certainly would have if you hadn’t blocked that curse. This is the least I can do.” Master Hurst places the bag of takeout on the table nearest the door, the one Harry had forgone setting up because of its proximity to the entrance. She can’t deny that the scent of food is making her mouth water, even if she can feel her shoulders coiling with tension following every word coming out of Master Hurst’s mouth. While James had warned her that there was every possibility of the press managing to figure out just who it was that had taken part in the little battle for Maywell, part of her had assumed she’d be able to keep her head down and, eventually, it’d get swept under the rug. With how she’s gotten away with the ruse, perhaps she is beginning to overestimate her luck?</p>
<p>Then again, given the events of last night, that’s probably not possible.</p>
<p>Master Hurst leaves them with a chime of ‘happy brewing’, remarkably upbeat for a man that’d almost been hit with the killing curse not even twenty-four hours ago. His cheery farewell is painfully at odds with the awkward silence that descends on the room now. When she chances a look to Caelum, it's to find him staring hard at her, as if something has clicked into place where there had once been a missing puzzle piece. For a moment, panic zings through her. Does he know? Is he aware that she’s Rigel Black? But no, that’s not possible.</p>
<p>Caelum, for all that he clearly knows his potions, isn’t sharp enough to put it together with how very few pieces of the puzzle he has. The one that could possibly come the closest is Master Snape, who knows far, far more than the boy before her and still hasn’t appeared from the shadows to string her up for lying to him.</p>
<p>“Potter,” Caelum says slowly, and it’s a very different type of slowly to how he had said her name before, a very different tone to his voice. “Were you at that rabble clinic yesterday with Master Hurst?”</p>
<p>“The Maywell is run by Master Hurst’s wife,” Harry admits, gathering the ingredients for Skele-Gro. With her intentions to make a double batch (she daren’t try a triple until she knows what the drain on her magic will be), Harry doesn’t plan on splitting her attentions between two different potions. Not until she knows her limits with Skele-Gro. She’s well aware of how much Snowhit she can brew, well aware that she could probably do it with her eyes closed (well, not literally because that would be the height of stupidity for a potioneer and she’s skilled, not brimming with hubris), but that’s only from how much damn practice she’s had with the potion. “One of my friends is interning there and I approached with the intention of brewing a few potions for them, just for practice.” And to know exactly which ones the people of the Lower Alleys need more, so she has an idea of what to stock on her stall, not that Caelum needs to know that.</p>
<p>“So you’re bootlicking,” Caelum grunts, inspecting her timetable before he beginning sorting out the ingredients for Tinkerllis. “Why on earth would the plebeians who visit this clinic need so much Tinkerllis for?”</p>
<p>“Tinkerntia is unfortunately common in the teenagers that live in the Lower Alleys and are exposed to too much negativity that bleeds off emotionally charged magic.” While only being able to feel one emotion at a time isn’t life-threatening on its own, it can lead to life threatening situations. Luckily enough, the amount of Tinkerllis to cure one person is nothing more than a spoonful, so one potion could go a long way.</p>
<p>Harry hasn’t missed the fact Caelum has selected the only other potion on her list that is close to being as difficult as Skele-Gro.</p>
<p>“Besides, you’re starting another potion right now and you don’t have a personal connection to Maywell like I do. So, who is the one that’s actually trying to suck up to the Aldermaster?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>From there, they work in near silence for the rest of the day, only stopping to eat half of the takeout each that Master Hurst had left for her. It’s lukewarm by the time they sit down to eat; even the charm on the bag warring with the cooling charms that keep the potions lab at an acceptable temperature in the height of summer. Even then, Caelum has rolled the sleeves of his shirt up past his elbows, exposing the pale length of his forearms and Harry tries not to make it obvious that she’s caught sight of the whip thin scar that crosses one of them.  </p>
<p>Soon enough, they’ve got all of the potions they’ve made put into the correct vials, labelled and stored in a series of wheeled crates that had magically appeared outside of the potion’s lab. Without Caelum’s help, she’d still have another four hours of work waiting for her instead of being ready to deliver the potions in question. It’s only when her companion stops by the crates and looks expectantly to her that Harry realises what he’s waiting on.</p>
<p>“There’s no one waiting to take the potions there, Caelum.”</p>
<p>“Then who is going to push the trolley while our photos are taken?”</p>
<p>“While our-” Harry stops, drawing in a breath. Of course, he’s expecting someone to be there to document their charity work. Why would she have ever expected him to do something for free? Then again, Master Hurst has already seen him helping out, so that will have put him in good standing with the Aldermaster already. Perhaps that was the only reason he had stuck around and lent his talents, or perhaps he didn’t like the idea of her doing something worthy of impressing the man on her lonesome. Then, there’s also the fact he hasn’t brought up the way Master Hurst had all but alluded to the fact he owes her a life debt, nevermind questioned if she was one of the unknowns who’d beaten back the Death Eaters. He would have been putting the quaffle through the hoop with that guess, but Harry would have done her best to deny it regardless. Either Caelum has grown as a person on his trips with Master Whitaker, or he knows something he doesn’t want to risk letting slip.</p>
<p>For a mere moment, she entertains the idea that it’d been Caelum under one of those ridiculously over-dramatized masks. Then, she dismisses the idea. She can’t see her fellow potioneer risking his career in such a way, especially when he’s adumbrated to the fact he’s had to go against his parents’ opinions already. No, he’s put too much effort into this to risk it for a little adrenaline rush. And, Harry rather hopes that, given the fact he is almost voluntarily seeking her out now, he’s come to realise pureblood mania isn’t the be all and end all when it comes to what the world has to offer.</p>
<p>“Look, if you don’t want to work up a sweat delivering the potions, you can just walk behind me while I do the hard work,” Harry offers, smile like Lead Acetate. Blue eyes narrow and no doubt imagining photographers (that won’t be there) more focused on taking Harry’s picture, Caelum defiantly takes hold of one trolley. It’s a miracle he doesn’t let his arrogance get ahead of him and prompt him to try and take the lead. No doubt he’d have gotten them lost down the winding streets and then refused to acknowledge it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>To Harry’s mounting horror, there are in fact reporters still snooping about Maywell. It’s a miracle that Rita Skeeter isn’t nearby, but that thought still doesn’t stop the sinking feeling that is persisting in Harry’s stomach.</p>
<p>Rigel is the one who can talk to the press; Rigel is the one who knows how to play these games, not Harry. Harriet Potter has never had any exposure to reporters, barring her one presentation with the Guild. Even then, they hadn’t been so close to her, with their floating quills and parchment jotting down words before Harry has even opened her mouth.</p>
<p>Harriet Potter does not know how to interact with the press and she needs to make that abundantly clear here, to further differentiate herself from Rigel. Truly, she’d been a fool to assume that she’d be able to slip flawlessly back into her own name, into her own life. It’s fine for Archie, who will gain no repercussions from any links to how the old Harry had acted; everyone knows that’s who he was. Harry, however, was supposed to have been hiding in the Lower Alleys and any link between herself and Rigel will be scrutinised with an uncomfortable amount of intent. Just one more thing that’s different for her, both because of her blood status and because she actually is the Rigel Black who pretended to be a pureblood.</p>
<p>So, it is intent that she slides back ever so slightly, angling her body so she’s behind Caelum. From the look the other shoots her over his shoulder, he’s perfectly aware of what she’s doing, but the scowl on his face implies he doesn’t have the slightest idea why. The suspicion in his eyes indicates he’s not assuming this to be a trap.</p>
<p>“I don’t like cameras,” Harry offers as an explanation and Caelum snorts, clamping a hand down on her shoulder and forcibly steering her until she’s standing beside him again.</p>
<p>“Don’t like cameras,” he repeats mockingly, eyes rolling skywards before he looks her over. “Don’t be asinine, Potter. Even I’m aware you’re going places in the potions community, especially when I instruct you on how I’ve bettered your technique. Our advancements will be on the cover of Potions Quarterly one day and I refuse to have to deal with this idiocy then, so you better get over it now.”</p>
<p>The flash of a camera breaks both of them from their intent stare off, turning to look at the reporter who just smiles right back. Luckily enough, that’s when Mrs Hurst appears from around the corner of Harry’s glowing wall that still doesn’t have a door. With any luck, she won’t have to brag about her own ‘charity’ now and can just go back to getting on with it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s only once she returns home that Harry realises she never got to prod Caelum for whatever he’s hiding from her. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It was only supposed to be 15,000 words, but that didn't happen. And then it was supposed to be only 20,000 but then Caelum demanded more than 2,000 words for his section so here we are with an even bigger chapter than last time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please please please don't get used to fast updates; school will be starting soon and I have to prepare my classroom TT.TT</p>
<p>I had something else to write in the author's notes here but, for the life of me, I cannot recall what it was I wanted to say. So, instead, you get this apologetic ramble and a promise that, if I remember, I'll put it in the next one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Harry! You’re on the front page!”</p>
<p>Peeling her face off of her pillow, Harry draws her forearm across her face, wiping free the drool that cakes her chin as Archie bursts into her room. He doesn’t sound overly worried, certainly not the full-blown panic she hopes he’d be in if the extent of their ruse had been discovered. Given everyone is aware how Archie had been playing as Harry for a few years, it is only her role within the ruse that is yet to be uncovered. The general public, her friends, her family (basically, everyone that isn’t Archie or Leo) are under the impression that Harry has been living life in the Lower Alleys, completing her schooling through correspondence. She needs to keep it that way.</p>
<p>Pushing up into a sitting position, Harry scrubs one hand down the side of her face, casting a quick Tempus. It’s half past six in the morning. She hadn’t planned on waking until seven o’clock at the earliest with every intention of making her way to the Guild for more brewing. Lily had even made her a packed lunch last night after hearing of the extent of her plans.</p>
<p>“Archie? What are you on about?” And what is he doing up before seven o’clock?</p>
<p>Her cousin throws himself down on her bed and it’s just too much for the pillow on the edge; Harry must have been hustling it along in her sleep because it only takes the addition of Archie’s weight to throw it over the edge. It hits the floor with a muffled thump but Harry doesn’t have the time to rescue it, too busy with the newspaper Archie is brandishing like a weapon in her face. He’s waving it back and forth so much she can’t even make out the picture, nevermind the headline. No, wait, that’s because she hasn’t got her glasses on.</p>
<p>Harry reaches for them, plucking them off the bedside cabinet to balance on the bridge of her nose. Part of her does miss being able to wake up and actually see everything right from the get go, but ocular potions aren’t approved by the healers association for children. She won’t be able to take one to correct her horrendous vision until she’s of age, when her magic will have settled from the sudden boost at thirteen, the age when her eyes won’t get any worse. The potion itself is hideously expensive, not because of the ingredients, but because the potioneer has to work with a healer to get the right prescription in order to counteract the elongated or retracted eyes. That, and the potion itself is a punishing thing to create, requiring more magic than most because it permanently adjusts the wizard’s body.</p>
<p>Not that any of this will be a problem for Harry by the time she reaches her majority. She’ll have her healer (Archie), the time to create the potion (near finished with schooling) and the magic (she has more than enough to spare, thanks to her mum).</p>
<p>“Look!” With her glasses on, Harry can now peer at the paper presented to her. She rather wishes she wasn’t though, not with what is on the front page. Archie hadn’t been lying. Her face (her actual Potter face, not Rigel Black but Harriet Potter’s face) is on the front page. Right beside Caelum Lestrange. She feels her stomach drop somewhere beneath her feet as she looks at the picture, the proof of their friendship splashed across the national pages for all to see. The picture itself doesn’t help in the slightest either.</p>
<p>The reporter or photographer, whoever it is that’s taken the picture, has caught the exact moment Caelum was telling her to stop acting like the cameras were a big problem (she hadn’t thought so at the time but clearly, she’d been wrong). Only, it doesn’t look like he’s doing a lot of telling off, for all that his mouth is moving. He had been speaking quietly, Harry acknowledges, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s staring pretty intently at her, right before they both turn to look out of the page and make eye contact with the reader. Most likely the vast majority of society. Oh Merlin.</p>
<p>This is Caelum’s fault. If he didn’t have such a nice face, then no one would think twice about two potioneers delivering new stock to the recently attacked Maywell. Only, he does have a pretty face, no doubt the reason they’ve chosen to use a photograph that makes this look like something it isn’t.</p>
<p>“Should I be challenging Lestrange to a duel?” Archie edges in, digging his elbow into her ribs, a beaming grin prompting the skin near his eyes to crinkle and his cheeks to dimple. Wait-</p>
<p>“Don’t give yourself dimples,” Harry scolds, pinching the cheek in question and watching it ripple until the dimple is gone.</p>
<p>“But dimples are cute.”</p>
<p>“Archie-”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, don’t get jealous just because you’re stuck with that face. Anyway, despite the picture they’ve chosen to use, the article itself is actually very on point. All about the attack on Maywell and how you and Lestrange have taken the initiative to brew potions to help them temporarily restock until they can get back on their feet. It even covers Dad’s intentions of schmoozing more money out of people yesterday, only they word it nicer than that. They even went to the Guild and your shape imbuing is mentioned!”</p>
<p>“It is?” Harry perks up a bit at that, finally accepting the paper from Archie’s hands and flicking through it. He’s right though; the article is well written, professional even. If it weren’t for the photo that it’d been tagged with, then Harry would have been incredibly happy with it. Oh, who is she kidding? She’s happy about it regardless.</p>
<p>Though the look she’s sharing with Caelum is unfortunate, she’s not about to throw the article away simply because the paper can’t resist baiting their audience into reading an article with a photograph peripherally related to the content of the article. Honestly, they only managed to get the corner of one of the potion crates in the photo to even hint towards what the column is about.</p>
<p>Still, it’s her first front page relevant to her potions work. This is getting framed and going on her wall.</p>
<p>“Why are you awake anyway?” Harry asks, carefully folding the newspaper in half and placing it on the cabinet beside her bed. “I wasn’t sure you even knew how to get out of bed before nine outside of school time.”</p>
<p>“Hardy-haha. For your information, Miss Famous Potioneer, I’ve been inspired. Seeing you take action in response to a tragedy such as this is something to be respected and imitated. So, I’m rocking up to help Hermione with her shift today.” As he speaks, Archie’s hair slowly begins to diminish, right up until it is the same closely cropped style that he had sported the previous summer under the heat of South America. “After you deliver your potions today, we can walk home together.” Archie fires her the thumbs up from there, grinning all the while before he spins on his heels and makes for the door.</p>
<p>It leaves Harry sitting on her bed, the covers still pooled around her waist, head still spinning just the slightest. Still, it is nice to get good press, even if she hadn’t made the potions with fame as a motive. Stretching her arms up and over her head, Harry throws the duvet from her body and gets out of bed. If she wants to be on schedule to meet up with Archie once he’s finished at Maywell for the day, then she needs to be at the Guild for nine o’clock.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Showered, dressed and ready for the day, Harry takes the stairs quieter than she normally would. The door to her parents’ room and, more importantly, Addy’s room is closed, which means at least two other people in the household are still asleep. Given that Addy’s only started sleeping through the night and a small portion of the morning in the last two months, she rather thinks her poor parents deserve the chance of a sleep in.</p>
<p>That just means she’s not surprised to find her father sitting at the table when she walks into the kitchen though.</p>
<p>“Morning dad,” she whispers, pulling two slices of bread from the breadbin to then deposit in the toaster. As is tradition for a non-Lily made breakfast, there’s a jar of marmalade on the table already and James is halfway through his first slice of semi-brunt toast, Auror robes on. “Overtime?”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about volume, Fawn. I’ve got a silencer charm on the room. No need to wake your mum or, Merlin forbid, Addy if we don’t have to. And yeah, overtime thanks to that fiasco the other day.” James runs a hand (not the one he had been holding his marmalade toast with, thankfully) through his hair, nearly knocking his glasses askew. “I know I was on the job and I didn’t get the chance to say anything, but I’m proud of you, Harry.”</p>
<p>Harry turns, staring at her dad until the ding of the toaster completing its job forcibly pulls her attention back to her breakfast. She slots both pieces of toast onto a plate, then makes her way over to the kitchen table, pulling out the chair for her customary seat. With the slightly rocky waters that has been her relationship with her parents these past few weeks, Harry makes sure to smear her toast with preserve quickly, turning her focus right back to her dad.</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, kiddo. I’m not gonna lie, you scared your mother and I shi- er, terribly with this home-schooling business. Maybe if you ever have kids someday, you’ll understand. And you definitely deserved the grounding,” James hastily says, as if to reaffirm that he’d been in the right and she should, in no way, expect him to ever be happy with having been lied to via omission and other unsavoury methods. “But… we collected the memory of the receptionist. I saw you fight and while I’ll be having a chat with Remus over that knife, and his response better be ‘I taught Harry how to do that as a last resort’… I am so proud of how you handled yourself.” That’s right, James hasn’t seen ‘Harry’ duel before today, will he? Well, he would have seen ‘Rigel’ fight but that doesn’t really count.</p>
<p>“Thanks, Dad. Uncle Remus is a great teacher; I would never have gotten to where I am with duelling without him.”</p>
<p>“You know he’s teaching some of the Lower Alley kids?”</p>
<p>Harry looks up at that, unaware that her uncle had shared just what he was getting up to over summer outside of their usual family gatherings or work-based meetings.</p>
<p>“I’m aware there’s a bit more going on down there then I thought previously,” James admits, pushing the last piece of his toast between his lips. His cheeks bulge with the bigger than normal offering, but he’s quick to chew it down and swallow. “But Remus has assured me you’ve got some friends down there looking out for you. Specifically, that one in red we didn’t get a hold of.” James pauses here, eyebrows rising as he looks at her. A clear invitation to give Leo up so he could, Harry doesn’t know, maybe pin a medal on him? She doesn’t know; it’s rare enough for the Aurors to be in the Lower Alleys, never mind the fact they were actually helping out instead of raiding the place. Harry just smiles back into the silence, watching her dad’s face crumple a little bit in acceptance. Even if she wanted to tell him, if she didn’t have the solid friendship with Leo, she wouldn’t be able to sell him out. Doesn’t matter that he’s not in trouble; her Dad’s an Auror and there’s the Code to consider.</p>
<p>“So, you’re not going to stop me going to the Lower Alleys?”</p>
<p>“Could I?” James asks, sounding tired and guilt squirms about in Harry’s stomach. “I don’t like it, but you’ve been going down there for a while, haven’t you? After the other night- look, I know you can handle yourself, Little Fawn. So, I’ll cut you a deal.”</p>
<p>At this, Harry cautiously perks up, eyeing her father. A deal could be anything from carrying some kind of emergency portkey or tracker, to having Remus hovering over her shoulder for the entirety of her daily trek to the Lower Alleys. The portkey option doesn’t sound so bad in truth; only anti-portkey wards would stop her from being whisked away and she’s pretty certain that there isn’t anyone in the Lower Alleys who could afford to have those wards put up permanently. Perhaps Leo could use the Court Funds to pay for some temporary wards, but she can’t imagine a reason that would prompt him into doing such a thing, so there’s no issue there either.</p>
<p>“What kind of deal?”</p>
<p>“One, you’re always back by ten,” James starts off with, lifting one finger, then a second one for his next term. “Two, you always let us know where you’re going. Three, you don’t go anywhere with someone you don’t know. Four, you’re always going to have some of that protective potion on you.”</p>
<p>“And five?” Harry hazards, for those seem like remarkably loose terms. True, she’d been grounded for breaking curfew back on the day the Dancing Phoenix (once the Dancing Dragon) had burned down. But that was when she hadn’t even turned twelve. Now, she’s very nearly fifteen (seventeen, though James doesn’t know she’s had access to a time-turner) and has proven herself very capable of defending both herself and others.</p>
<p>“And five. On my days off, I’m drilling you like I would a new recruit. So, make time for it.” Huh. Well, that makes sense. She’s not quite sure how to feel about the fact her dad has clearly recognised he can’t stop her from going to the Lower Alleys, especially given that’s where Archie’s heading off right now, along with her (more Archie’s) muggleborn friend Hermione. But, the idea of more training on how to defend herself is rather exciting. That isn’t to say that Remus and Leo’s training is lacklustre (far from it) but, knowing how Aurors work, learning some of their tricks is bound to be helpful.</p>
<p>“Sure, Dad. I’m looking forward to it.”</p>
<p>“Gotta make sure that your Defence is up to stuff, given I don’t actually know what you’ve been learning,” James mutters, getting to his feet and putting his plate in the sink. He summons up her plate too, once she’s lifted her half-eaten slice from the surface, spelling the sponge to get to work cleaning. Instead of making for the door right away though, James stops by her chair, crouching down beside it to look her in the eye, one hand on her shoulder and a small smile on his face. And it’s only now, as she looks at her Dad and recognises that she’s approaching her fifteenth birthday very, very quickly, that she realises her dad is closer to forty than thirty. While it’s true that doesn’t mean much to wizards, she can see the evidence in his face that he’s no longer in his twenties; can see the laugh lines that are slowly (ever so slowly) starting to creep into the corner of his eyes. His smile comes easily, as always, but there’s something a little heavier to the expression that makes her sit still and listen.</p>
<p>“Harry, you do know that if you’re ever in trouble, it doesn’t matter what you’ve done, your mum and I am here for you, right? Even if I have to hand in my resignation so I can help you with it. You do know you can rely on us, right?”</p>
<p>There’s a lump in her throat. Harry blinks, fighting back the tears that are starting to pool foolishly in the corner of her eyes. For half a second, she considers it. Considers coming clean and letting her dad help her hide all the evidence, help her hide it all away so they can go on and pretend all is well in the world. But… it passes. She couldn’t do that to him. Besides, she’s got it handled. Still-</p>
<p>“If I ever feel like I can’t handle things, I’ll come to you.”</p>
<p>James smiles, squeezing her shoulder once before he gets to his feet and offers his goodbyes.</p>
<p>Harry watches him go, something tight in her chest as she remains seated, the remains of her half-chewed toast still on her tongue. There’s the usual churning guilt in her stomach, but there’s also something more than that.</p>
<p>In theory, she’s known she has good parents. Even before she’d met, Caelum, Harry loved and appreciated her parents. Exposure to the Lestrange heir, whose mother seemed to consider him a nuisance and relish in any of his disappearance, had only emphasised what she knew. But, there’s knowing, and then there’s knowing. There’s being presented the evidence in the actions they take; in the things they say. It’s proven in the way James is trusting her, despite part of the ruse being exposed, to know what she’s doing. To know when she’s in over her head so that she can reach out to him for help. Only, Harry doesn’t plan on getting in over her head. Over her head means Riddle finding out about the ruse at worst and, as much faith she has in her father, she doesn’t think James Potter will be able to do much against the political heavyweight that is Lord Riddle. No, if that were to happen, perhaps their best bet would be to go crawling to Dumbledore for help. Or flee to the continent and reassume her life as Rigel Black at a school with a lesser potions course.</p>
<p>It makes her cringe just thinking about it. Still,whatever future is in store for her, potions will be at the center of it. Speaking of, she still has a quota to fill today, along with a cousin to pick up at the end of his shift. She’s shown him around the Lower Alleys before, and is pretty confident Archie can find his way around. Even if he can’t, perhaps he’ll have had the forethought to meet up with Hermione and head over there together. Regardless, she doesn’t have Caelum’s helping hands today so, the sooner she gets to the Guild, the better.</p>
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<p>-0</p>
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<p>[AbAbAb]</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
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<p>The Lower Alleys are just as he remembered it; brimming with noise and excitement, full of colourful people and equally flashy events. More than once, he hears mention of an upcoming festival which he’ll need to prod Harry into telling him about. The sun feels warm on his skull, the downside of closely cropped hair but, at least this way, it doesn’t have the slightest chance of getting into his eyes. Plus, he’s kinda come to associate the hairstyle with his healing, what with how he’d spent his summer last year.</p>
<p>With his magic reaching out to the environment around him (because Harry might say it’s a necessary step for free-brewing but all Archie heard was it’s a way to read the space around him and he’s damn sure he can apply that to his healing), Archie watches the masses flow through the street, all the while keeping a hand on his coin purse. He’s still relatively new to the place, not stupid. He’s had a warning of what happens to outsiders here from Leo, then one from Hermione not long after. He knows what he looks like; robes a little too well styled, face a little too pretty; he’s the perfect pick-pocketing target. At least until he spends some more time here and the little rugrats who do the thieving start to recognise him, that is.</p>
<p>“Archie!”</p>
<p>“Hermione!” Perking up at the sight of his very bestest friend in the whole wide world, Archie picks up the pace, practically skipping over the cobblestones to reach her side. As always, she’s only grown more lovely in their time apart, nevermind that it’s only been a week or so. She’s got her wild hair held back in a sensible plait today, though there are a few fly-away hairs framing her face which serve to make her brown eyes look that much more attractive. All of that, however, pales in comparison to the brain that resides in that head. Her brain and her heart. What isn’t there to like about Hermione Granger? How can the SOW idiots look at her, the prime example of just how amazing a muggleborn can be, and still find her wanting? Shaking his head, Archie comes to a stop before her, throwing his arms open wide and grinning.</p>
<p>“Arcturus Rigel Black-” And doesn’t it sound amazing, to hear his full name come from her lips, no matter how sternly, and know she is speaking directly to him? “-do you honestly expect me to hug you in this heat?”</p>
<p>“Yes!” Archie doesn’t really give her a chance to protest beyond that (though he would let her go if she so much as tried to wiggle free), wrapping Hermione up in his arms and rising up onto his tiptoes to plant his head atop hers. He’s got a good feeling he’s going to be taller than his best friend; she’s sixteen in two months and he’s only just about to turn fifteen; there’s nearly a full year between them but he’s already taller. Maybe this time next year, he’ll be able to plant his chin atop her head without having to go on his tiptoes.</p>
<p>Maybe this time next year he’ll be able to kiss her as a greeting instead.</p>
<p>“Okay, that’s enough contact, it’s too warm for hugs in healer robes.”</p>
<p>“So, when we’re out of healer robes, I can hug you as much as I want?” Archie cocks a brow at Hermione, grinning wide. There are a few sparse freckles breaking out across the bridge of her nose, though they don’t yet sweep under the curve of her eyes. It’s cute.</p>
<p>“Stop being ridiculous, Archie. We have a job to do so let’s get going.”</p>
<p>“As my lady commands.” Archie drops into a sweeping bow, making sure to smile up at Hermione from under his lashes and he’s delighted to see a little flush blossoming across her cheeks. At the Triwizard Tournament, Hermione had confessed that she wanted to like him back, but couldn’t on account of ‘his gender’. Of course, she’d said all this to Harry but, as a good cousin who owes him big time for having to parade about as a girl with genuine titties, she told him. And now, Hermione knows the truth and things aren’t so weird between them. Sure, there’s still that unresolved tension, but Archie likes his chances.</p>
<p>“You’re so dramatic” Hermione groans, but she slips her arm into his when he offers it, so she can’t be utterly ashamed of knowing him. “It’s a good thing you’ve got your actual face on, otherwise more than a few people might be turning you in for the cash.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, luv? What was that?” That’s how he finds out about the posters.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The work at the Maywell Clinic is incredibly rewarding, even if it’s very different to what he’d been dealing with last year during his summer months. Cuts, bumps, bruises; he even gets one person who’s got a knife wound with the weapon still embedded in his forearm! He had known, of course, what the Lower Alleys were like in theory, but this is his first time being exposed to the underbelly of it all. Turns out, when you hang out with the king of the place, everyone’s on their best behaviour. Hermione’s off with Carol, having a year of interning here under her belt, it’d been decided it was in Archie’s best interests to accompany Healer Hurst, Leo’s mum. Archie has only just met her, but can already tell she’s amazing.  She knows when to empathise with patients or be stern, when to listen, when to talk; that and she can tell when someone is lying without casting any spells.</p>
<p>If Dad had her talent for bullshit detection, then he and Harry would've been in the shit from the start. Luckily enough, that ain’t the case.</p>
<p>Just after eleven o’clock, Marek comes stumbling in with a black eye and his arm around the shoulders of a teen not that much older than Archie himself.</p>
<p>“Healer Hurst? Reckon we’ve got a Tinkerntia case here.” The boy under his arm scowls, going to elbow Marek in the ribs, something the older male dodges with impeccable agility, considering the close proximity. Maybe Archie should be following Harry’s example and training with some of these people? Given the showing she’d offered up for the Triwizard Tournament, it’s probably well worth it. But then again, Harry’s a different kind of ridiculous, the kind of insanity that cannot be imitated by mere mortals. Oh, Archie might have grown up with her, but he’s more than aware that there’s something just a little… off about his cousin. As if her magic wasn’t hint enough. Having faced her core three years ago while trying to replicate her little funky mind-magic trick and getting stung for it, he knows it isn’t normal. He’s not come across another person with magic like that in all his studies at AIM.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?”</p>
<p>“Think so; you can diagnose, can’t you?” Marek bullies the resisting kid onto the patient’s bed as he speaks, grunting with the effort. Archie hovers over Mrs Hurst’s shoulder, memorising the wand movements.</p>
<p>“Definitely Tinkerntia. Good job spotting this one, Marek.”</p>
<p>“Not a problem, Mrs Hurst. I’ll be on my way if you’ve got this in hand now. See you at the Phoenix on your lunch break, Black.”</p>
<p>Archie’s clapped on the shoulder as Leo’s friend passes by, leaving him alone with Mrs Hurst and their unruly patient. Clearly fresh from a fight if he’s still this angry over it.</p>
<p>“What do you know about Tinkerntia, Mr Black?”</p>
<p>“It’s a cognitive disease that affects emotions due to over-exposure with negative magic,” Archie recites, already heading for the potions cupboard the little room boasts. Over half of the stock inside is written in his cousin’s cramped handwriting, which Archie’s been reading for years. The potion in question, however, is labelled with far neater handwriting; Lestrange’s work then. While there’s no love lost between Archie and his second cousin, Harry’s been more than happy to vouch for his potioneering skills, so he plucks it up without hesitation. “Tinkerntia causes the sufferer to experience only one emotion at a time, which is why it was given a name close to that of Tinkerbell, the fairy from the legend who was so small she could only hold one emotion at a time in her body. It’s a disease most commonly found in disadvantaged areas due to the kinds of people who live in the vicinity of the patient.”</p>
<p>“Very well remembered,” Mrs Hurst praises with a smile, already holding out a spoon and Archie pops the cork on the potion, pouring the dosage out before bottling it back up again. “And the cure?”</p>
<p>“Tinkerllis potion; only a spoonful is needed and it takes five minutes to cure Tinkerntia completely.”</p>
<p>There’s a lull after that one, no other bodies stumbling through the doors to beg treatment and, soon enough, it’s time for his lunch break. Mrs Hurst has been kind enough to organise it so that Archie’s thirty minutes off the clock will coincide with Hermione’s; he doesn’t miss the way the other woman winks at her and Archie can only smile back. How else is one supposed to respond to a woman who’s clearly in his corner, rooting for his love life? Why else would she have ensured both he and Hermione were on lunch at the same time if not to offer them time to socialise together? It also means Hermione can lead the way to the Dancing Phoenix, which is lucky because Archie is… not so hot with directions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s clear Hermione comes here often; she’s greeted by name, there’s a table free for her by the window and a glass of water already waiting. A second is poured for Archie not long after he sits down.</p>
<p>“You are okay with shepherd’s pie, aren’t you?” Hermione asks, rolling her eyes as Marek and the red-haired woman (Rispah, if he’s remembering correctly) quickly join them at the table. “I asked one of the kids that hang around the Clinic to pass an order on for two of them.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, shepherd’s pie is brilliant.” ‘Just like you’re brilliant.’ He doesn’t say it but, from the smile on his face, he rather hopes Hermione gets the message.</p>
<p>“Oh, you’re completely gone, aren’t you, sweetie?” Rispah smiles at him and it’s an expression that is a strange cross between patronising and friendly.</p>
<p>“Not gone enough to ignore your incredible beauty, my lady. No doubt the Phoenix could only have come about its name change in homage to your stunning hair, I can think of no other reason why it would bear such a name.” All three occupants at their table laugh and Archie can’t help but admire Hermione’s. It’s not the high, bell like laughter expected of pureblood women, it has a bit too much belly to the sound of it to pass off as such. The sound is so unprovoked and joyful that Archie doesn’t have a hope of halting his fluttering heart. Is he looking a little dopey right now? Perhaps. Archie doesn’t care though.</p>
<p>“Where’s Leo today? He’s usually here,” Hermione asks, looking around the table, as if the King of Thieves is about to pop his head out from around one of the booths to surprise them with his presence. Archie gives her face a quick scan, but it doesn’t seem like Hermione’s too eager for the other to appear, nor does she look terribly disappointed when Rispah snorts and dismissively waves her hand.</p>
<p>“His Highness is, of course, busy organising the recovery of the alley following the latest attack.” Here, she pauses, affixing a sly smile across her lips. “Of course, he’s taking a break for lunch, he’s not foolish enough to try powering through on nothing. He came by for takeout just ten minutes ago. What with Harry currently haunting the Potions Guild-”</p>
<p>“Say no more,” Marek cuts in, wearing a grin of his own and wiggling his brows. It has Archie sitting up straighter as his shepherd’s pie is placed before him, steam wafting up from the plate.</p>
<p>“Are you implying I need to duel the king for making moves upon my intended?” he asks with a cliquish sniff. “Because I will. Can’t have anyone infringing on her honour.”</p>
<p>“Please, we all know you and Harry are about as romantically attracted to one another as a pig is to a lion. If you’re going after his Highness as the brother figure looking to ensure his sister’s heart isn’t about to be broken, that’ll be much more believable.” Right, they’re not members of society, they won’t know he’s being semi-serious with the fiancée statement.</p>
<p>It is in this moment that Rispah perks up, eyes bright as she spots someone walking into the Phoenix; Archie curses his decision to sit with his back to the door and, after giving his food a quick look over, swings his head around to see who has caught her attention. Appetising as his food may look, Archie will be the first to admit he’s nosier than he should care to be.</p>
<p>He doesn’t really respond as Rispah excuses herself from the table, too busy watching her sashay her way across to the unsuspecting Remus, who has yet to clock Archie sitting at the table by the window. In fact, his uncle seems pretty distracted by the appearance of the shapely redhead, smiling soft and- oh ho! What is this! Is this... a date?</p>
<p>“Is Rispah on a date?” Archie hisses to Marek, watching his uncle, yes, pull out a chair for the woman before taking a seat himself. Holy hell, this is marvellous news! He can’t wait to tell Harry! It doesn’t matter what his cousin or Aunt Lily says, poking your nose in other people’s business clearly pays off. This is fantastic news; now he just needs to decide exactly what he wants from his dear old uncle in order to ensure his silence.</p>
<p>Well, that’s not true; Archie wouldn’t dream of selling Remus’ dating life out to his Dad and Uncle James. At least, not unless they’ve been dating long enough for the woman to become attached enough that the rest of the Marauders won’t chase her off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Archie spends the rest of the day all but bouncing in place, fluttering from one patient to the next, eager to help but nearly ready to explode with the news he has to share with Harry. It takes no effort at all to drum up the necessary excitement he should be showing when Mrs Hurst invites him back for the rest of the summer; another internship, this time on British soil? Sign him up!</p>
<p>The rest of his day just flies by, one job after another until Harry’s there, right by the new door to the Maywell Clinic with another trolley of potions. Behind her, he can see another wheeled tower of vials, the friendly face of Leo peering over the top and looking as charming as the first time Archie’d met him. In truth, Archie does like the other wizard, for all that he does seem to like Harry romantically. That’s not something Archie wants to tangle with though; until Harry decides she even wants to pursue something as ‘trivial’ (her word, not his) as romance, then Archie will continue to do his best to act as a buffer against all those people who fancy themselves worthy of spending their time with her. He rather suspects he’ll have that job for quite a while.</p>
<p>“Ah, Leo! Just who I wanted to see; I need to talk to you about this wall.” Mrs Hurst gestures to the still slightly glowing wall, the one Hermione had said the original door to get into the Clinic resided on. Now, they’ve had to extend the front of the building out by two feet in order to allow a door on the side instead. For all that the wall venomously refused to have a door or even a window placed within its brickwork, it’d apparently been more than happy to move two feet out into the street. It does mean Maywell stands out a bit more on the street, but no one really seems to care from what Archie’s seen. In fact, everyone who has been inside today has just remarked on what a blessing it is to know it’s still open.</p>
<p>Leo takes one grumpy look towards the wall in question before he offers Harry his farewells, ruffling his hair and looking very much like he fancies doing a bit more than that. Which, you know, is Archie’s cue.</p>
<p>“Harry! Hermione here was just asking if you’d managed to sort a day out to come to her parents’ hospital for those needle things!”</p>
<p>“It’s a practice, not a hospital,” Hermione cuts in, eyes glancing skywards as if she can’t believe she’s had to make that distinction. It’s a little weird that the muggles have a near completely separate thing for teeth and healers that do all the rest, but Archie can’t find it in himself to comment. Who knows what odd practices muggles have to undertake in order to look after themselves when they’ve got no magic? He knows he’ll be looking into it in his NEWT studies, but it’s only one unit; no way will they have a complete review of the muggle health care system. He’d say he doesn’t need it, but if Harry thinks looking into needles is going to improve her potions career, he should probably give it a look too. Track records seem to indicate that, when Harry’s looking at something, she’s usually going to strike gold.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hermione’s parents pick her up on the muggle side of the Leaky and Archie tries his best to not stare too much at the ‘car’. Doesn’t matter that he’s seen them around the airport, he’s never been this close to one before. Uncle James or Aunt Lily had always ensured he flooed to their house safely, so he’d never seen the ‘cars’ up close. How does it even work without magic? Luckily enough, Harry pinches him when he leans a bit too close. Once they’ve seen Hermione off, they head back inside to floo home.</p>
<p>“You know, I really could’ve done without the additional snake. The second you asked Dad if it could stay here, he just had to go out and get another one.”</p>
<p>“Can’t have thirteen snakes,” Harry agrees easily enough, rising from her unfortunate stumble out the fireplace, brushing the ash from her knees. Archie gives her a moment to compose herself, doing his best to not smirk when she has to fix the glasses on her nose. Man, he does not miss wearing those, even if he’d only ever bothered at the airport. He also misses a time in his life where the courtyard hadn’t been bespelled to be as warm as a desert and full of thriving snakes. A time when he didn’t have to be responsible for feeding them. It’s all Harry’s fault for being a damn Parselmouth anyway, but Uncle James had adamantly refused to welcome the nest of serpents into his own home, citing a toddler as an excuse. Not that it’d have worked anyway. Dad is ridiculously  attached.</p>
<p>“How is Treeslider doing anyway?”</p>
<p>“Why don’t you come find out?” He doesn’t wait for her to respond, making for the courtyard in question, but not before collecting the box of mice from the fridge. That alone is not something he wants to think too hard on. The snakes should be a Potter problem, not residents at the Black household. Yet… they make Dad happy. For that alone, Archie could never dream of throwing them out. If only they’d gotten useful ones, ones that Harry could ask for the venom of and use in healing potions, then Archie might find it in himself to warm up to them a bit.</p>
<p>Pushing open the door to the courtyard, Archie squints against the bright summer sun that’s kissing up against the horizon. The heat beyond the threshold comes like a punch in the face and, as he steps out into it, the snakes come swarming out. Harry’s snake is by far the loudest, slithering along and stopping by her feet. His dearest cousin squats down, holding an arm out to the snake and Archie once again bemoans his life. Couldn’t she have the ability to talk to something fluffy and cute instead?</p>
<p>“What’s he saying?”</p>
<p>“Just how much he likes it here,” Harry replies, smoothing one finger down the creature’s scaly head. Okay, so maybe this snake isn’t so bad. “He likes how often you give him food. And how all the other snakes had recognised him as ‘the speaker’s most trusted’. They let him pick his mouse first because of it.” Oh. That explains why all the other snakes wait for Treeslider to eat first then.</p>
<p>“What are you gonna do about school now that the ruse is up?” Archie asks, sitting himself down on the iron-frame chair, one elbow resting on the matching table. It’s at least as old as his dad; he’s heard the story of how Uncle Regulus was stumbling around as a child, fell, and split his head open on the foot of this particular table more times than he can count. In truth, it’s probably a miracle Archie didn’t suffer the same fate as his uncle.</p>
<p>“I assume I’ll actually be packed off to AIM now. I’ve obviously been doing well with the correspondence classes, and I’ve got some good background knowledge on NEWT level work because of Flint’s essays. But, obviously, Mum and Dad don’t know that. Plus, with Mum’s job potentially opening up soon-”</p>
<p>“No home-schooling,” Archie agrees, trying to hide the bubbling enthusiasm that’s flared to life in his gut. He loves AIM, he loves the healing track and he loves going to school with Hermione, his bestest friend in the whole world and the witch he’s going to spend the rest of his life with. It’s to the point Dad’s joking about him actually being Uncle James’ kid because of the similarities between their love lives. Before AIM, he hadn’t really understood how someone could fall in love so hard like that. But now that he knows Hermione, really knows her? He gets it.</p>
<p>He also totally understands that, while having his dear cousin at AIM would be an absolute joy for him, it wouldn’t be for Harry. Even if the potions track wasn’t such a travesty, he’s still pretty sure she would hate it there. Because, Harry’s been at Hogwarts. That’s the place she considers school, that’s the place she’s made her friends and had adventures (the place where her role model works).</p>
<p>“It worked for Leo, but Mum’s not like Mrs Hurst. And, I’m not Leo. I haven’t shared my big secret with them. Plus, Mum has Addy. It doesn’t matter anyway. I still have my apprenticeship with Master Snape, as soon as he’s done sorting out COW party stuff, we’ll be underway with that. It’s only three years.”</p>
<p>Archie doesn’t say it, but it’ll be three years in which she’ll be miserable. For all that Harry coming to AIM means she’s going to singlehandedly drag their potions track into the modern era, it’s gonna suck for her. And, he doesn’t know how to fix it.</p>
<p>Any hope he has of sufficiently comforting her on the topic is thoroughly squashed by the arrival of Dad, home from his jaunt to Saint Mungo’s. And what’s the first he says once he’s through the door? Is it a greeting for his only child, the light of his life, his pride and joy? No.</p>
<p>“Snakeys! Papa’s home!”</p>
<p>Archie places a hand to his heart, mockingly wounded.</p>
<p>“Fifteen years and that’s it, I’m no longer his first thought. I’m hurt.”</p>
<p>Harry laughs, fixing him with a sly look as she says, “Clearly he needs reminding of what an amazing son he has.”</p>
<p>“You’re right! With pranks!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
<p> </p>
<p>[HpHpHp]</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know what I want for my birthday.”</p>
<p>It’s a rainy Monday morning, and Harry is sitting in the living room watching Addy stumble about the place on her toddler legs, finding it remarkably hilarious every time she falls to the floor. It’s better than her screaming and crying from every set back though. Two years old and she’s already learnt that dealing with hardships means getting up and trying again. Harry’s so proud.</p>
<p>“Little late to be telling us this today, Harry,” Lily says softly, alluding to the fact it is indeed the thirtieth of July. Harry’s not worried though; what she wants isn’t something with physical substance. She tells them as such, catching Addy on her next fall, given she’s in an arm’s reach this time. Both adults in the room look remarkably intrigued, Remus even going so far as to close his book on duelling (Harry hopes he’s looking up ideas for their next practice session). With her baby sister sprawled in her lap and giggling in absolutely delight, Harry looks between Lily and Remus, an impish grin spreading across her face as she waits for one of them to ask. The silence stretches between them, rain hammering up against the window panes before Remus cracks like an egg, all runny yoke in the way he sprawls a little bit further into the comforts of his armchair.</p>
<p>“Okay Harry, what is it you want for your birthday?”</p>
<p>“I want to know how you made the Marauder’s Map.”</p>
<p>“Are you planning on making the AIM version with Archie?” Remus asks with a grin and Harry offers him a straight face back, well aware of the stare that Lily is boring into the side of her head.</p>
<p>“Archie and I would never be such blatant troublemakers as our predecessors,” Harry proclaims, righting Addy so that she’s sitting comfortably in her lap. “It’s much more likely we’d use it to sneak into the library after hours.” And there it is, the approving mother look. What’s important here though is that Harry hasn’t outright confirmed Remus’ guess. Because she doesn’t intend to do such a thing. Oh, certainly making a map of AIM once she’s shipped off for the next schooling year will probably become a priority once she gets there, especially with how invaluable the Marauder’s Map had been during her time at Hogwarts. But that’s not why Harry’s asking.</p>
<p>Her apartment is now well warded thanks to Leo’s early birthday gift. Though she’s not outright said it to him, it’s clear her kingly friend is aware she’s up to (been up to) something dangerous and illegal. And… and he’d not poked his nose in any further than was necessary to help her out. Which is why she’s going to do her damn best to return the favour. Sure, she doesn’t have a time-turner, but she also doesn’t have Flint’s essays or the Triwizard Tournament to demand her time. She'll have the mental energy she’d dedicated to organising the ruse to spare and all the motivation as well; Leo is going to be getting his own Marauder’s Map of the Lower Alleys. Maybe not this year, maybe not the next (though Harry likes her chances for that). But he’s going to be getting it.</p>
<p>She’d been playing with the idea ever since the attack on Maywell; if Leo could look across a map and pick out the names that don’t fit, it would make life so much easier for him and the rest of the Court. They’ve looked out for her for near four years now, it’s time she helped them out.</p>
<p>“I’ll dig out the old notes,” Remus promises, hiding his amused smile behind the duelling book, “but you can’t tell Padfoot or Prongs that the goal is extra studying. They might start losing their hair if you announce that one.”</p>
<p>“What’s this about losing hair?” Her dad asks, gliding in through the Floo in a flare of bright green flames, dusting down his Auror robes as if his every entrance isn’t pureblood perfect. Now, why hadn’t she gotten those genes? Lily doesn’t exactly have an issue with the floo either; is it something to do with her magic? Does the excess amount mean that her travels are more volatile when completed? Perhaps Professor Dumbledore and Riddle have the same problem. Not that she’ll ever be in their vicinity again in order to try and catch such a thing. Though the thought of Riddle spinning out a fireplace like she does is an amusing thought.</p>
<p>“I thought you were getting a bit thin on top, darling, but it appears it was just the lighting.” Lily smiles, undoubtedly as amused as Harry herself is when James begins hastily patting at his skull, as if to check his Potter mop-top is indeed as wild and plentiful as ever. Outside, the wind howls and whips against the glass, unusually vicious for a summer shower. Though, given the crackle of energy in the air, perhaps it would be more apt to call it a summer storm? It certainly feels like there’ll be lightning to be had soon enough.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, Dad. Even if you do start balding, I’ll make a potion to fix it up. Can’t have Uncle Sirius teasing you for the rest of your days simply because of your appearance.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, Little Fawn. On the topic of ‘fixing things up’, you best go get some exercise gear on. I’m off the clock so Potter Bootcamp starts today!” Fist slamming into his open palm, James grins at her, as if the rain isn’t pelting against the windows right over his shoulders.</p>
<p>“Don’t bootcamps take place outside?”</p>
<p>“You think I get to ignore a call if there’s a tiny summer storm watering the plants? No chance; this weather is actually excellent for one of the things I wanted to go over with you. Now come on, let’s go, go, go!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Five minutes later and with her hair already thoroughly drenched, Harry’s starting to wonder if perhaps this part of her deal with James hadn’t actually been a punishment in disguise. She’s wearing a long-sleeved, close-fitting shirt and matching leggings, tucked into boots and they’re all charmed to be water-repellent. That doesn’t stop the fat droplets that keep crash landing on her cheeks though. Regardless, Harry is standing and ready, wand in hand and waiting for her father’s instruction. In truth, she’s never received serious lessons from James before; it’d been Lily who taught her to read, write, and count. It’d been Remus who taught her wizarding history, potion-making (until she was eight and had already outstripped his understanding), and all the other little subjects that he could prior to Hogwarts. Even when a MWP&amp;P prank spell had come up, it’d usually been Sirius to instruct her and Archie.</p>
<p>Looking back on it, Harry knows that’s because he’d still been reeling from Diana’s death and nothing distracted a man more than having to look after two children. But the point still stands. James’ never really taught her anything seriously and Harry’s not sure if that’s because he considers himself a poor teacher or if there’s some other underlying reason. Probably the latter, given that he looks to be in his element, standing before her in the rain as if it’s nothing more than a balmy summer breeze.</p>
<p>“First rule of Auror work, always take into account your surroundings! Look around you; what do you have to work with out here?!” Utterly at odds with his calm composure, James has to shout for her to really hear him over the sheets of rain. Harry scrunches her brows together, inspecting her surroundings before she gives a wave of her wand. The creeping ivy that has crawled up the side of their home longer than Harry herself had been crawling reaches out, forming a canopy over their heads. It grows thicker and thicker until the rain pours off it, leaving them within a small dry spot, despite the damp grass under her feet.</p>
<p>“Good job, Harry. Non-verbal before your NEWTs is great!” James claps her on the back, inspecting the ivy umbrella that most certainly shouldn’t be able to support its own weight from the single branch that’s detached itself from the house. Still, she’d asked her magic for shelter from the rain and shelter she had received. “Nice idea going for the ivy, but you could have done one better.”</p>
<p>“I could?”</p>
<p>With only the instruction of ‘watch’, James walks out from under her ivy-cover, the iconic Potter hair once again plastering itself to his head. Even just a minute out of the rain and it’d started recovering some of its usual bounce; it’d be outrageously funny if she didn’t have to deal with it herself. Once he’s a good ten feet or so away from her ivy, James whips his wand around once and the rain no longer falls in his vicinity. Instead, it freezes, forming a glittering icy dome that only thickens as more and more rain comes down. Of course, transfiguration of water from its liquid state to a solid would be a far easier task than asking the ivy to multiply as she had done. Using the weather to their advantage–and there’s probably numerous applications of it too. Rerouting the wind, twisting the path of sunlight to work as a distraction, amplifying the sounds of hail hitting the ground until it’s thunderously loud.</p>
<p>“We’ll start with the basic tricks of the trade in a rainstorm and then we’ll go from there.” James gestures for her to come and join him inside his ice dome. He looks remarkably smug that he’s found something to teach her but; really, she shouldn’t be surprised. For all that he works in R&amp;D for the Marauders’ line, she’s been stupendously ignorant of the potential magic he could teach her from his actual job. He’s been in the field for well over a decade, and even if he’s moved to a bit more paperwork-based role with his promotion, that just means he’ll have a bit more energy to use for teaching her.</p>
<p>Plus, with some Auror tricks, she might have a good shot at surprising Leo for once.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>From there, the first thing James does is shows her how to use the ice dome to her advantage; techniques ranging from turning it into a spiked defence, to transforming sections back to liquid in order to aim high-powered jets at her opponent. There are sneaky little things, like turning sections of the floor to ice or flooding the ground with water, or using fire to both attack and to melt parts of the dome to act as a distraction.</p>
<p>It goes beyond that though; James shows her how to gather the water up, using some fancy transfiguration technique to multiply in record time the amount of liquid he’s controlling to send what is close to a tsunami careening down the garden. That, or use the excess water to form a perfect sphere that can be used to detain a person.</p>
<p>“Pack the water in close enough, and your detainee can’t move their limbs–” Here, James pauses, shooting her an almost sheepish look over his shoulder. “–make sure you leave them a little air pocket for breathing though. Here, I’ll transfigure a dummy for you to try it on; we’ve got a spell to test when a detainee will survive a technique.” Which, yeah, makes sense. How else will Aurors know they can use a technique like this, unless they were practicing on actual prisoners? There’re moral issues there; just like potioneers aren’t allowed to hand out experimental potions willy-nilly, Harry suspects that there are a whole bunch of rules for Aurors too. She can’t see the Ministry permit their enforcers to take liberties such as testing spells on prisoners.</p>
<p>They keep at it for another half hour, Harry steadily growing more and more aware of just how good her Dad is at transfiguration. Oh, she’d been aware he was something of a prodigy with the subject, but knowing something is different to getting to see it in action. He’s not that bad a teacher either, though it does begin to feel a little bit more like Auror Bootcamp the longer they’re outside in the chill of the rain. Still, Harry feels like she’s learned a great deal from their first lesson; certainly, she’ll be looking to spell the dirt and dust up into a mini duststorm the next time she and Leo spar with each other.</p>
<p>The only downside is that, when Lily calls them in, both she and James realise just how much water they’ve been throwing around. The garden is waterlogged, the flowers either washed completely away or almost torn from their flowerbeds and very much absent of their petals.</p>
<p>“Next time, we practice in Sirius’ garden.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blissfully unaware of the state of her flora, Lily places one cup of hot chocolate before Harry and one before James, returning to her the stove where something delicious is bubbling away. James meets her eyes over the brim of his cup, a silent agreement to not mention the state of the garden and, perhaps, aim to blame it completely on the rainstorm. That or her dad’s fully intending to fix everything first thing in the morning before he has to head to the office. Harry’s not sure.</p>
<p>What she does know is that her muscles are feeling the sting from working in the rain and her magic is perfectly settled after the ‘exercise’ it’s been given. And her mind; her mind is whirling. After all, water is present within the air as water vapour; could she exercise her magic to pull it from the air in order to use it in transfigurations? That just opens up the rest of the elements within the air for similar magics? Could she rip the carbon molecules and transfigure them into a solid state of matter in order to use it as a physical shield? It’s an idea to be considered, though the first obstacle to overcome is how to transfigure something she cannot see and only knows is there through study and no external sensation. Something to look into; she’ll have to make a note of it.</p>
<p>Just as Lily begins plating up the food, Remus comes stumbling into the kitchen. Given the fact Addy has sat herself down upon his foot and is now clinging to his leg, she supposes her uncle doesn’t have much of a choice with walking along awkwardly. How is it that her high-pitched giggles are infectious enough to put a smile on Harry’s face? Despite the grins on all of their faces, Remus sits himself down with the utmost dignity, completely ignoring them. Only once he is seated does he undertake the difficult onus of peeling Addy from his shin, lifting her until she’s sitting upon his lap instead.</p>
<p>“Alright there, Remus?”</p>
<p>“I think she’s finally gotten used to me,” her uncle says with a tired grin, bouncing Addy once on his knee before offering Lily his gratitudes as dinner migrates from the counter-top to the table. “By the way, Harry’s interested in how to make her own map, James.”</p>
<p>“Really?!” James’ head snaps around to face her, a delighted smile on his lips and rainwater still drying in his hair. A few droplets splatter across Lily’s arm, what with being sat right next to him. The splash zone, Harry concludes.</p>
<p>“I think it’s a project I’d like to have a go at. Who knows, maybe my map will be even better than yours.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dinner from there on is nothing unusual but, that is perhaps what makes it special. There are no side eyes from her parents, as if wondering when she will next disappear on them. There’s no suspicion in Remus’ eyes, though according to Archie that’s because he’s got something else in the Lower Alleys to be focusing on. Part of her wants to needle him, wants to ask if this thing with Rispah has been going on a while and if they should (finally) be preparing for an addition into their little family. Lily would probably be thrilled to have another female presence about; they could even bond over being red heads.</p>
<p>She can’t though. Nevermind the tangle of information that’d come to light for her parents if she did mention it (how do you know who Remus is dating? She lives where? She’s an associate of who?) and that’s if they’re even dating or not. Her uncle is notoriously tight-lipped when it comes to his love life. When she considers who his best friends are; well, Harry can’t judge him in the slightest for keeping things on the down low. Her father and Uncle Sirius no doubt mean well, but she can totally see them unwittingly chasing off many a woman from her poor uncle. As such, Harry resolves to keep it as quiet as she can when it comes to letting the other Marauders know what their quietest member is up to.</p>
<p>Doesn’t mean she can’t tease him at the first opportunity to present itself though.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
<p> </p>
<p>[HpHpHp]</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The day of Harry’s birthday starts with a small part in the morning and leaves Harry feeling remarkably less guilty about heading out to the Lower Alleys for the rest of the day, especially given James has a late shift starting at two and Sirius is off to St. Mungo’s for the afternoon. Archie’d been quick to pass her Treeslider on his way out of the house, proclaiming he had enough on his plate without the other snake trying to curl around his shoulders. She’s spoilt him, apparently.</p>
<p>And, speaking of being spoilt; she’s gotten a handful of letters in the post, all hastily shoved into her potions kit to be reviewed once she’s gotten to the Phoenix. One, she recognises as Master Snape’s handwriting, with another from Caelum, shockingly enough. On the very day of her birth too. Maybe he’s not just pretending to be friends now? The final one, worryingly enough, originates from the Department for Magical Law Enforcement-. The only reason she’s not already planning her escape is because she’s relatively certain James would at least give her advance warning if she were about to get arrested.</p>
<p>Her potions bag sits heavy upon her shoulder as she walks out into Diagon Alley, puddles lingering in the dips and curves of the road, leftover residue from the previous day. Even now, the stormclouds sit heavy in the sky, the deluge only paused, not yet passed. There’re far fewer people out and about now, despite the fact that the Hogwarts letter would have gone out today with the book listing. She wonders who will be taking up the Defence post this year; wonders how they will fall prey to the curse that supposedly lingers on the job. Harry can’t deny it; during her four years at the castle, each and every professor had been out before the year was up (some put out of action long before that date, though perhaps Hogwarts herself was eager to help with that one, what with the way he’d been wasting her students’ time).</p>
<p>But that’s not her cause for concern anymore. She’s not at Hogwarts, will probably be shipped off to AIM. Maybe she can swing it for Beauxbatons if she exposes her understanding the French language? No, Harry knows she’s doing quite well with the language thanks to Binny’s dedicated teaching, but she’s nowhere near good enough to be able to take lessons in the language. AIM it is then. At least she’ll be with Archie.</p>
<p>Turning into Knockturn, Harry offers a nod to the hag selling fingernail clippings; they pass each other often enough now that it seems rude to not do so. That, and with her duelling knife now strapped to her other arm, she feels significantly more at ease walking down the shady street. To think, she’d stumbled down this road three years ago looking for a job; she’d never have imagined that the place it leads would have become something of a second home to her. Her coins are spelled silent in her purse, loaded up with extra to pay tithe for both herself and Archie. If he’s going to have a job down here working at the Clinic with Hermione, then Harry’s going to make sure he’s included in the Rogue’s circle. In fact, she’ll make sure to ask Leo if Hermione’s aware enough to the point she’s paying her part as well. If not, well, Harry’s got more than enough money to spare, she can easily stretch to cover the other girl for a year as well. When she’d still be Rigel, back in the Triwizard Tournament, Hermione had indicated she knew Leo was king, even if her wording had been vague. Under the notion that Rigel himself hadn’t known about it all.</p>
<p>The memory brings a smile to Harry’s face as she approaches the statue of Arthur Pendragon. The notice board that’s nearby still houses a picture of her former face, though this one has had a whacking great big moustache added onto its photograph. Not only does it move along with the picture, which is a nifty bit of magic, but it’s a delightful shade of hot pink too. She’s not quick sure who in the SOW party had come up with the brilliant idea of slapping wanted posters throughout the Lower Alleys, but they clearly have no idea how things work down here. Everyone is clearly intent on making a mockery of the posters, a conclusion she has solidified with further evidence because, smeared on the wall of the phoenix, there’s one somebody has magically enlarged and altered. The face, now of accurate proportions to the real-life Rigel Black, twists, splutters, and then spits out a gallon or so of water onto unsuspecting pedestrians. If the Weasley twins frequented the Alleys, she’d have laid the blame squarely at their feet.</p>
<p>“Seen the latest addition have ya, kid?”</p>
<p>“Good morning, Solom. I’m surprised you’ve allowed it to remain up and keep driving your emptors away.”</p>
<p>“Made his Highness laugh,” Solom says with a low shrug of his shoulders, leaning against the door frame as the poster once again blasts a few litres of water at an unsuspecting passer-by who only just manages to leap out the way. “We’re gonna keep it up for the summer; kids like to set it off and play in the water to cool off.”</p>
<p>“Huh.” Scratching at the back of her head and with vaguely guilty memories of the Black Family’s Underground Tropical Getaway, Harry turns her full attention on Solom. “Are you still serving breakfast?” Celebrating her birthday first thing in the morning isn’t so bad, but all she’s eaten so far is cake, cake, and more cake. It’s only because of Archie’s presence that she hadn’t over indulged like that fateful birthday party of Draco’s.</p>
<p>“Reckon I can throw something together for ya, Harry. Come on in.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sitting up to Leo’s usual table before the fireplace, Harry scrapes the last of the beans from her plate before setting her cutlery atop it, fork and knife crossed to show she’s finished. Then, she fishes the letters from her bag, dithering over which of the trio is most likely to contain good news. The last she’d seen of Snape; he was undertaking the reproduction of her modified Polyjuice potion. No word against the continuation of her apprenticeship, but a good chance of the letter being positive.</p>
<p>The last she had seen of Caelum; they had been delivering the potions to Maywell and had their photograph taken. One that’d been splashed across the front page and, though the writing hadn’t hinted at it, the picture may have made them out to be closer than what they were. Not that she can think of anyone who is close to Caelum, so perhaps the media isn’t wrong to assume she’s the person closest to Caelum. Certainly, Harry likes to think she’d have met the best friend if there was one. Regardless, it could be something positive (he’s been wanting to talk potions for a while now, hasn’t he?) or it could be a long-winded, degrading rant on the results of their ‘charity work’. She sets the letter down to be read second. Which leaves the report from her father’s own department.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>Dear Miss Potter,</em></p>
<p>
  <em>We are pleased to inform you the assailant from whom you acquired a blood-sample has been identified through means of Ancestry potion, brewed by a potioneer licensed with the Potions Guild. Please rest assured that the Ministry’s Aurors will soon be detaining the suspect and, given the blood taken at the scene and the memories reviewed of the incident, the head of the case believes this will be an open and shut trial. It is not expected that your presence will be necessary during this process but, in the unlikely event you are required, please ensure you allocate time for this on the twelfth of August 1995.</em>
</p>
<p><em>The Ministry thanks you for your cooperation.</em>’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What you got there, lass?” Marek slides into a seat opposite her, a new scar resting high on his cheekbone and one side of his hair shaved clean off. Harry eyes it for a moment, quite unsure if it’s the outcome of a duel gone wrong or just a strange fashion choice. She decides not the question it.</p>
<p>“Ministry letter. Just saying how they’re tracking the person whose blood I got and expect it to be an open and shut case.”</p>
<p>“Normally don’t like them lot sticking their heads in here, but I gotta admit, they’ve got a slight more resources for catching these people then we ‘ave.” Harry nods her head in agreement, wrinkling her nose when Solom sets a glass of ale down in front of her companion.</p>
<p>“Little early for drinking, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Keeps your guts warm on a day like this, Harry. You should try.”</p>
<p>“No, she shouldn’t,” Leo snaps, dropping onto the bench Harry’s occupying and slinging his arm across her shoulders in a lopsided hug. “Harry’s just fine with her milk, aren’t you, Harry?”</p>
<p>“Milk is good for your teeth,” Harry replies just as swiftly, firing off a charming smile before she returns to her letter pile. Leo, inexhaustible snoop that he is, has already reached out for her Ministry letter, not that Harry particularly cares if he reads that one. In fact, it saves her the job of having to catch him up to speed. Instead, she lets her magic zing across the sealed envelope from Caelum; it even has a wax Lestrange crest on the back. How ridiculous.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>Potter,</em></p>
<p>
  <em>The way you ducked out of an academic discussion during our last run in is inexcusable. I fully expect you to make time for me before your summer is over and don’t dare try and claim yourself too busy! Master Snape cannot possibly be spending his entire summer holed up in a lab teaching a whelp like you, so there is no one else of import whom you cannot blow off for a day. I am, after all, your most impressive connection within your age group. Not that I believe you’d have managed to gather yourself any friends with your dalliance in the Lower Alleys, of all places. It’s no wonder you were so swift to cultivate an acquaintanceship with me.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Today marks your fifteenth birthday, does it not? Enjoy it while it lasts; it will be the last year in which you can say we are on the same level. Come next year, I will be a fully-fledged Master within the Guild while you retain the lowly rank of Journeyman. If you are exceptionally polite to your betters, then perhaps I will allow you to aid me with my investigations.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Speaking of which; we need to compare notes on your admittedly impressive brewing technique. Of course, given how it is just the two of us, along with Master Snape, it is only just and right that we contribute to an overall understanding of this new branch of potioneering. No doubt you’ll have a pittance to add to the pile but don’t worry your empty half-blood head; I have more than enough to light the fires of innovation.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>A final note; do not get any ideas regarding that picture the Prophet decided was acceptable viewing for that news article! You and I both know exactly what kind of conversation was taking place and I do not want your ridiculous eyes fixated on an image that makes it appear as if things between us are something more. I put up with you because you have a handful of ideas that, when graced with my genius input, can make something of an impact in the potions community. There is no other reason so don’t go filling your pretty little head with ridiculous fantasies, understood?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I expect you to write back with a day we can meet and no, I will not be inviting you to Dartmoor again. Merlin knows last time was stressful enough.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Your better in every way that counts,</em>
</p>
<p><em>C. Lestrange</em>’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Arse,” Harry mutters, bemused by the fact the word leaves her lips with a fondness she’d never have expected, given her first meeting with the Lestrange heir. Not to say that he’d been aware exactly who he was talking to when she’d been wearing Rigel’s face. She’ll have to remind him she’s engaged to Archie… or tell him, if he’s not already aware and has just chosen to forget it by way of it not being immediately important to him.</p>
<p>Yet, he’s right about not going to Dartmoor again. Last time had been far too close for comfort and the fact Caelum had actually looked worried for her was promise enough that actually being caught by Lord and Lady Lestrange would be the last thing she’d want to happen.</p>
<p>She’ll have to invite him to Potter Place instead.</p>
<p>“Who’s that, Harry?” Leo twists the discarded envelope around, inspecting her full name written in Caelum’s lovely script (it’s almost as pretty as his face, only he’s actually had to work for this to look good so she can’t really begrudge him that much). “Your little lordling friend?”</p>
<p>“That’s right. But, enough about my correspondences. How is everything here?” She’ll open her letter from Snape in a moment. She slips the two letters she’s read into her potions bag and passes the boy working the tables pay for her food and a tip for him as he cleans the plates, only then does Harry relax back into her chair. Leo’s arm is in the perfect position to rest the back of her skull on.</p>
<p>“It’s rough, Lass,” Marek grunts, draining the last of his ale and wiping the excess off on his sleeve. “People are spooked Maywell got attacked, even if ‘is Highness and yourself fought ‘em all off.”</p>
<p>“It’s one thing to go after a few store fronts, or to poke the covens,” Leo agrees, keeping his voice low, though the breath that carries his words kisses up at the bangs covering her forehead, “but attacking the Clinic has upset a whole lot of people. Whoever these ‘Death Eater’ people are, they’ve made no friends down here after that.”</p>
<p>“You know it was the Death Eaters?”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah. They left a load of leaflets this time, all about their message of pureblood elitism. I’d make sure Lestrange doesn’t try venturing further back here than Borgin and Burkes, if I were you. Can’t say the thieves won’t rob him blind if he does.”</p>
<p>“Noted.” Harry’s quite certain Caelum wouldn’t dream of wading into the ‘backwater swill’ that is the Lower Alleys, as she’d once heard one of the purebloods call it. Still, she’ll pass the message on to him, just in case he decides he’s feeling particularly adventurous.</p>
<p>“But enough about that, let’s talk about something more worthwhile.”</p>
<p>“Like?” Harry asks, curiosity bubbling within her guts as she tries to conclude just what Leo would find more worthwhile than discussing the attack that’d happened not a week ago.</p>
<p>“Like the festival,” Leo declares, producing a rolled-up scroll of parchment and flicking it open to spread it across the now empty table top. Upon the parchment, Harry finds a bird’s eye view of the Phoenix’s courtyard. Already, there are multiple drawings upon the page, sectioned off by the different types of wares that would be available during the event. These are further broken down into an almost maze-like set up to showcase where each stall would be placed, allowing for maximum customer traffic. After giving it a quick once over, Harry lets out a long, low whistle. That’s a lot of planning for something she had assumed was just a quick idea formed not even a month ago. She says as much and Marek laughs, clapping her once on the shoulder before he plucks a quill from his pocket, spinning it between his fingers with the same showy dexterity that he handles a knife with.</p>
<p>“Make sure you don’t bring too many potions to peddle, Lass. There’ll be a handful of weapon stalls there and I’m gonna show you how to pick out a half-decent knife.”</p>
<p>“Harry has a more than decent knife,” Leo grumbles, scribbling something down onto the map already, placing several circles around the edges of the Phoenix’s courtyard with a frown. He dithers over one of the eight before crossing it out, adjusting the placement of the two circles that’d have been closest to it. Is he planning the placement of ward-stones? “I gave her it.”</p>
<p>“But she could get a better one.”</p>
<p>“I just need a knife that does the job,” Harry pipes up, leaning over the map to better review Leo’s notes. Yeah, he’s definitely putting down markings for ward-stones; three wouldn’t be capable of covering the Phoenix’s courtyard and seven’s the next magically powerful number, even if eight would have covered the whole courtyard a bit easier. She supposes he’ll just have to place a few people near the entrance to police the people there, where the little bit of exposed courtyard would be.</p>
<p>“But you could have one that does a better job, like-”</p>
<p>“Wanna come find a ward-master with me, Harry?” Leo brutally cuts Marek off, flinging a winning smile her way and Harry drums up the answering grin, snatching up her last letter.</p>
<p>“Just let me check this isn’t a today job, but sure, sounds like fun.” Maybe the ward-master they’ll find will be Will and she can further cement that it has been Harry in the Lower Alleys all this time, that Rigel Black has only ever been at Hogwarts and then disappeared like a phantom in the mist now that the ruse is up. The arm behind her shoulders comes down to reel her closer to Leo’s side and that’s ‘round about the time Treeslider decides he’s had quite enough of the physical contact, no matter how warm Leo may be. Her snake rears up, hissing at the King of Thieves and successfully draws a harsh curse from Marek’s mouth as he all but throws himself out of his chair. Even Leo startles a little bit before his usual good-natured smile works its way across his face.</p>
<p>“See you’ve got your friend out and about.”</p>
<p>“Funnily enough, Archie didn’t want to look after the more independent snake.”</p>
<p>“<em>He’sssss a jumpy one, like a moussssse that knowssss it’ssss being watched,</em>” Treeslider grumbles into the column of her neck, seemingly quite content to continue basking on her collarbones now that Leo’s arm is no longer presenting itself as a danger to his creature comforts. That she’s not sure if her little friend is talking about Marek or Archie isn’t something she really needs to address right now; she owes Treeslider, especially given the way the snake had thrown himself into danger for her sake.</p>
<p>“<em>Try not to upsssset Leo, the one on my right, pleasssse. He’ssss a friend.</em>”</p>
<p>“And with that, I’m out.” Marek offers her a very quick wave as he backs away from the table, shooting a worried glance back at the two of them before he vanishes. Right, a lot of people find the snake tongue discomforting. Harry wonders if it just comes from hearing it from a human’s mouth, or if there’s something distinctly off-putting about the language itself. Perhaps she’ll never know; after all, it’s normal to her.</p>
<p>“If I’d known all it’d take to get rid of Marek was to do a bit of hissing,” Leo muses, a wicked smile on his face as he twists his rolled up plans around his hands until they magically disappear, “then I’d have been doing that from the start.”</p>
<p>“Parseltongue is a little more than just hisses.”</p>
<p>“Guess I’ll just have to keep you around as long as I can then, Harry. Come on, let’s go find us a ward-master.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Despite her three full summers wandering the Alleys so far, Harry can safely say that she’s never ventured to the East of it all, where the (as Leo puts it) upper crust of the Lower Alleys inhabitants live. The ‘street’ he leads her to is, in fact, not a street at all but a cul de sac in the shape of an octagon. In the centre, there is a large stretch of open grass, a children’s play-park planted in the middle of the expanse of trees, fields and flowers.</p>
<p>“Welcome to Octahedr Alley.” The houses are superior to what she’s come to expect as the norm, and they are actual houses, not the flats of Dogwood nor the above-shop fronts that she sees in Knockturn and near the Phoenix. No, these are genuine houses that are clearly well cared for; they each even have a little fenced off garden at the back, if Harry is seeing things right. Still, it’s hardly where she’d expect a ward master to work from.</p>
<p>“What are we doing here, Leo?” Harry asks quietly, matching her strides to his as they meander up the cobblestone path. It’s certainly a nice place, for all that it’s part of the Alleys. Two kids playing in the park spot them and begin eagerly waving, clearly recognising Leo.</p>
<p>“This is where our most successful shop owners live,” Leo whispers, gesturing to the house on her left. It takes Harry a moment, but she recognises Aled Flint. He’s digging into the little garden of the house he stands at, a woman standing next to him and Harry recognises the roses in the pots beside her; they’re the ones her mother likes to plant during summer. The ones her dad always gripes about because they have to be planted without magic in order to successfully thrive.</p>
<p>“It’s also where the ones with the money to hire a ward-master or curse-breaker reside.” With a flourish, Leo points to the right this time. Standing by the front door of one home, William Weasley meets their eyes with a hard slope of a frown on his lips, perhaps because of her. She can’t imagine why he’d frown at Leo, what with him being the King of Rogues and all that. Probably her.</p>
<p>“Master Will! How are you on this fine summer day?” Leo doesn’t quite bounce over to the man, but there is what could potentially be described as a spring in his step. Harry follows at a slightly more sedated pace, though she doesn’t let Leo get too far ahead of her.</p>
<p>Instead of offering a verbal response, Will chances a glance to the sky where it still looks as if Zeus is a mere sneeze away from dropping a few litres per square foot of water on them. As if on cue, the grey clouds rumble ominously, though no precipitation falls as of yet.</p>
<p>“I’ll let you know when a fine summer day actually turns up, your Highness.” He pauses, turning to actually look at Harry this time and there’s something hard in his blue eyes now. “Harry.” And wow, just the way he says her name strips the heat of summer from her more effectively than the overcast sky has managed since she woke up.</p>
<p>Leo clearly seems to think so too; his shoulders straighten out and he tips his head back ever so slightly, raising his chin. It would perhaps be a bit more effective if Will didn’t have a good couple of inches on the King of Thieves already. “Little harsh there, Will.”</p>
<p>“I’ve got five siblings who are more than a little unhappy thanks to your friend’s duplicity there,” Will grunts, folding his arms across his chest and shifting his weight to one side. “She might be considered part of the court, but doesn’t mean I have to get along with her.”</p>
<p>Harry bites her lip, pushing back the urge to state she’s actually interacted with the Weasley children as herself, had considered them friends of Harriet Potter, if not particularly close ones. Upon removing herself from the situation, by choosing to allow Rigel to disappear into the aether, she’s made herself something a beacon for people to come and voice their displeasure to. Draco, of course, had been forcibly tempered by his place in society, the ever-watchful eye of his very present parents, and the location in which they met. Will has none of these things inhibiting him.</p>
<p>“Let him say what he has to say, Leo,” Harry says, hiding the sigh she wants to release as she steps around Leo in order to face Will head on. They’ve not really interacted much since that day she saw him interrogating Borgin, but he’d made in abundantly clear that he didn’t agree with her presence in the Lower Alleys. That’s fine; Harry doesn’t need everyone to be happy with her. She’d known at the age of eleven when concocting the plan that she’d be paying for it, one way or another. This is just another currency exchange, the one where she has to give instead of take as she has done for the past four years.</p>
<p>“I don’t know if you think this is all some big game to play, Potter, but you’ll stay the hell away from my siblings. I won’t have them getting involved.”</p>
<p>“Done.” It’s not exactly like Harry will ever be in a position to impact the Weasley children’s lives again, is it? She’s removed from the situation, will gain her Mastery in potions and then disappear into the depths of the Guild with only the occasional feature in the potions periodical to prove she’s still amongst the living. Well, she might come out if Leo asks her to join him at the Phoenix or to deliver more potions to Krait. But that’ll be it. It’s what she’s planned for all along.</p>
<p>So, why does the very thought of that future she’d strived towards for so long leave her feeling empty inside?</p>
<p>“Right, well if you’re both done with that,” Leo drawls, eyes narrowed as he looks between them and Harry silently sets aside a portion of her day to explain the tension between herself and William Weasley, “I wanted to know if you’d be capable of this, Will.” Flicking out the huge scroll of paper for the second time, Leo spreads it open, held between both hands to showcase his plans to Will. The Weasley heir looks it over with a frown, his brow lined heavily under the drop of his eyebrows as he scrutinises the diagrams and notes. He makes a low humming noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head to a side before clicking his tongue.</p>
<p>“Sorry, your Highness. This is beyond me. You’re gonna need Black.”</p>
<p>“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They leave Octahedr Alley shortly after that, once Leo has asked how Will’s business in the Alleys is going and he’s collected the tithe that the other owes. All the while, Harry feels a sinking sensation beginning to stir in her stomach. There can only be one Black who Will is referring to in this context and that is Regulus Black. Which leaves Harry with a bit of a dilemma. No doubt the younger Black brother houses an anger towards her that is simmering much alike an underwater volcano, hidden from prying eyes until it can birth a hard slab of bubbling sulphur into existence. Of course, that bubbling sulphur will no doubt take the form of a burning, seething rage aimed towards her. And, Harry deserves it. She knows she does. After all, she is the one who is not a family member, but was implicit in the ruse that has caused the Black family so many problems. No doubt Regulus will perceive this as a slight and take offence. Given that Archie is family, she wouldn’t be surprised if he directed that rage towards her.</p>
<p>Yet, this is a perfect opportunity. Here, Harry can exhibit her brand-new, ‘Rigel-given’ talent. If there is one sure-fire way to ensure news of her Parseltongue gets back to Riddle, it is to showcase it before the younger Black. No doubt he will scamper eagerly to the head of the SOW Party in order to relay the news. While it is possible that she could rely on the rumour mill, this would be so much quicker. She just hadn’t expected the opportunity to present itself as easily as this. Thanks to Archie, she even has Treeslider slung around her neck like a particularly serpentine fashion statement. Perhaps it’s a bit ominous, but at least it’s an authentic run in. While she dislikes the idea of giving Regulus the knowledge that she is hanging about in the Lower Alleys, that has already become common knowledge. Her parents are well aware where she’s been spending her time now and, while they may not approve, James is even going as far as to give her particularly potent self-defence lessons. So, for all that Regulus will know she is still spending her time in Leo’s company, it is not something he will be able to wield against her. She’ll just have to suck it up and get on with it. After all, given that Riddle is pushing for society to more readily accept half-bloods, she is bound to run into him eventually. Better to get the meeting out of the way now than when she’s in the company of someone who cannot defend themselves from Regulus’ pointed barbs. It doesn’t matter that Leo is here with her, there is very little that Black could do against the King of Thieves… not without losing a portion of business and ruining his reputation for discretion anyway.</p>
<p>Partly reassured by the thought, Harry continues to walk alongside Leo as he meanders up Diagon Alley. A light mist of rain is beginning to fall from the sky now, not enough that splashes can be seen in the puddles still sown along the cobblestone streets, but enough that she can feel the moisture on her face. She spots one of the scamps from Leo’s neck of the woods waddling along, cuttings of wood bundled up in his arms. That was the one that wanted to be a toymaker, wasn’t it? She flicks a quick glance to Leo and he’s smiling. Yeah, definitely one of his.</p>
<p>The place they approach now is a world away from where they’ve just been. Wealth drips off of every shopfront, it’s in the golden laced signs, the stained-glass windows, the overall architecture with which the buildings have been built. This is exactly the kind of place she would’ve expected to find Regulus Black’s office. In fact, Harry is relatively certain that she spies Mr. Parkinson hurrying along, wand held aloft to prevent the rain from touching his neatly pressed robes. He doesn’t pay her a lick of attention as he hurries past, too busy ensuring the parchment in his hand remains dry. It must be something important. But that’s no concern of hers anymore.</p>
<p>“Have you ever met your cousin’s uncle before?” Leo asks, opening the door for her with a gallant bow. Harry steps over the threshold, twisting at the neck to meet Leo’s gaze.</p>
<p>“Once or twice,” Harry admits, “though he is certainly not someone I would seek the company of.” It goes unsaid that he would not look for her in a society affair; he’d thought her too much of a hindrance for the Black Heir. But, now that it is common knowledge that the Rigel Black Regulus has known these past few years and the actual Archie Black are two different people, perhaps he won’t seek to drive her away so viciously. Or perhaps, Harry muses, he will just be even more venomous for the part she has played in fooling the entirety of wizarding society. The little waiting room in as finely decorated as she’d expect; after all, Regulus Black would not allow his place of work to do anything other than accurately reflect his own social standing.</p>
<p>“Mr. Hurst!” The receptionist, a woman in her early twenties with eyeliner so precisely done it can only be the result of spellwork, jolts at Leo’s sudden appearance. The blush that follows has Harry frowning. It’s not warm enough outside for a sudden burst of heat from the door to cause a flush- oh. Right, Leo will only be two or three years younger than her. Harry’s not blind; she’s known since the day they met that Leo is good looking, had recognised it in the handsome cut of his jaw. It would seem, Harry thinks as she considers Archie, then Draco, Caelum, and finally Leo, that she is destined to be in the presence of attractive men.</p>
<p>“Harry, this is Miss Marina Sanchez, she’s fresh in her role as a receptionist, so save the sharp tongue for later.”</p>
<p>“Just what do you intend to do with my tongue, Leo?” Harry asks, affecting an expression of innocence upon her features as her companion snaps around to look at her in shock. He recovers quickly, jostling her with one elbow as he looks to Marina, as if he’s sharing some deep, personal secret.</p>
<p>“I tell you, Miss Sanchez, pick your friends with a bit more wisdom than I did.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean, Leo? I’m sure I remember you waiting for me every day for a month when we first met. Maybe I’m picturing some other handsome, brown haired boy rescuing little old me down Knockturn though. I’ll certainly have to find him and offer him a reward now that I’ve wasted all these years on you.”</p>
<p>Leo scoffs, eyes rolling as a fond smile tugs at his lips. “This is Harriet Potter, by the way.”</p>
<p>“We’re here to see Regulus Black, is he in?” Harry pushes up onto her tiptoes to better peer over the desk (solid oak and with far more leaf carvings than is necessary) so that she can catch Marina’s eye, doing her best to project a Pansy-like personality. Or, at least the one the girl shows most of the world. All pleasantness and beaming smiles, beckoning you to become her best friend.</p>
<p>“I, yes. I’ll just go and check he’s willing to see you. It is business related, right?”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t dream of troubling Master Black for anything less,” Leo agrees solemnly, flicking Harry a wink the second Marina’s back is turned. She doesn’t know if he’s trying to make her more at ease for the upcoming meeting, but he really shouldn’t worry. Harry has faced down a basilisk, escaped a tomb built by a man who would rip her magic right from her, and triumphed over Riddle’s ridiculous tournament. Regulus Black shouldn’t even register as a blip on her radar. The only reason he does so is because of the potential upset he could cause Sirius.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Leo leads the way once Marina gives them the go-ahead, walking down the corridor and ignoring the first two doors with the confidence of a man who knows exactly where he is going. Of course, he does; she already knows that Regulus was behind the wards for the free duelling tournament last year, along with the construction of the Phoenix’s new defences. But, she’s also well aware the services of a ward-master (nevermind a Black ward-master) don’t come cheap.</p>
<p>“Do you want any contributions to the price for this?” Harry asks quietly while they’re still on the other side of the door.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry; we made enough last year that I set some aside for the next lot of wards we’d need, and the rest will come from the coin I’ve already made from our future vendors.” With that, Leo knocks on the door, rocking back on his heels as the threshold opens automatically.</p>
<p>The inside of the office is just as richly luxuriated as the reception had been, if note even more overdone. There’re crystal tumblers with a selection of different liquors, a marble fireplace with a fire that casts golden-toned shadows across the deep emerald carpet, even a small but tasteful chandelier. People could say what they want about the Black family’s need for opulence, but never let it said that they couldn’t decorate tastefully. That is if Regulus had even been the one to adorn his office.</p>
<p>The man in question is currently writing furiously onto a piece of parchment, augury quill twisting back and forth.</p>
<p>“Take a seat and I’ll be with you in a moment.” He doesn’t look up from whatever it is he’s writing and Harry forcibly pushes down the unfortunately urge to snoop. As a SOW Party member, Regulus will undoubtedly know a far sight more of what is happening within Riddle’s little group; it’s not like Harry can go and ask the friends she has on the inside, is it? Because they’re not her friends anymore.</p>
<p>Leo drops into one of the armchairs like he owes it, as if it were nothing more than one of the chairs at the Phoenix and the need for posturing isn’t present here, despite them meeting up with Regulus Black. She supposes it isn’t; if Regulus is Leo’s go-to ward-master (as she’s beginning to suspect he is) then it’s almost certain he has some idea about Leo’s title and role within the Lower Alleys. Unquestionably, he will recognise that Malcom Hurst’s son is the de-facto leader of the people there, though if he knows the actual scope of Leo’s position is a different matter.</p>
<p>Regulus finishes off his last bit of writing with a flourish, probably his signature then. When he looks up, he finds Leo first, then her. As she’s looking for it, Harry doesn’t miss the sharp tightening of his jaw, nor the way his silver eyes flash with thinly veiled annoyance.</p>
<p>“Heiress Potter. What unsavoury company you appear to be keeping.”</p>
<p>“Now is that any way to speak to a loyal customer?” Leo jumps in with a charming smile, deflecting the dry wit of Regulus’ comment. After all, if she knows he’s in cahoots with Leo over wards in the Lower Alleys, then they both have something to hold over one another. He cannot out her true entanglement with the Lower Alleys and not make himself culpable by association. “I’ve got another project this summer and I’m interested in some wards; have you the time for it?”</p>
<p>“When are you looking for the wards to be completed?”</p>
<p>“Back end of August, three days, the courtyard of the Phoenix, again. Only, more space this time.”</p>
<p>Harry relaxes back into her chair, watching Leo hammer out the details with Regulus, passing on his working document of a map for the man to review. A few of the terms she recognises from her Ancient Runes studies, one or two from her lessons with Dumbledore. Perhaps this is another project that she could allocate some time to. She’ll have Archie and Hermione to fill her friendship needs, but Harry is aware enough to recognise she’s a third wheel there. While she doesn’t doubt they’ll be more than happy to talk to her, she won’t be seeking them out too much…</p>
<p>She’s in for a very dull, lonely year.</p>
<p>“<em>Sssspeaker, why can I tassste sssadnessssss on your ssskin?</em>” Treeslider lifts his head from her clavicle, tongue flicking out to dance along her jawline and Harry stills her hands before she can reach for him.</p>
<p>“<em>Jussst thinking how I will be going to a new nessst for sssome time thisss year and I will have no friendsss there.</em>”</p>
<p>“<em>Do not be foolisssh, Ssspeaker. Asss long as the prey continuesss, you will have me.</em>” Harry laughs, giving in to the desire to run a fingertip down Treeslider’s head.</p>
<p>“<em>Yesss, you are right.</em>”</p>
<p>“<em>Asss alwaysss.</em>”</p>
<p>“Potter.” Regulus Black is staring at her from across his desk, conversation with Leo utterly forgotten as he stares with some unholy offspring of sheer surprise and barely suppressed rage. For all the unexpressed emotion that burns in his eyes, his voice is remarkably calm as he speaks. “Was that Parseltongue?”</p>
<p>“Rigel kidnapped me and conducted some kind of lineage ritual to give me Parseltongue, Master Black. He said it was too large a potential slip up for getting caught.” Affixing her best expression of baby-unicorn innocence, Harry widens her eyes and allows them to wet at the corners, biting at her lower lip as if unsure. “My father even reached out to Headmaster Dumbledore and he looked at the memory to check if that’s what Rigel really did. I’m stuck with it, so I thought carrying a snake around would let me grow more comfortable with it. But, if it’s distracting, I can leave?”</p>
<p>“Sit back down, Heiress Potter. I was a Slytherin. It will take a slight bit more than Parseltongue to unsettle me.”</p>
<p>For all his pretty words though, she doesn’t miss how Regulus reassesses her through shrewd eyes throughout the rest of his conversation with Leo, lips pressing into a hard frown. It’s brilliant; she hadn’t even been the one to draw attention to it, that’d been Treeslider. The fact that Leo hadn’t reacted makes it even better because that supports her declaration that she’s trying to grow used to having a relatively useless skill. Truly, the only thing it is good for is simple espionage missions and the acquisition of venom.</p>
<p>Harry watches and listens as Leo haggles with Regulus over the pricing, then they square off over what day would be best to erect the wards. By agreeing to an early morning installation, Leo manages to get another five percent knocked off the price, which is a genuine surprise. She wouldn’t have thought the word ‘discount’ was even in Regulus’ vocabulary, nevermind if he were willing to give one. Leo must have more reasons to interact with Regulus than she’d previously thought if he can get the uppity pureblood to lower his extortionate rates.</p>
<p>Only once they’ve shook hands on it does Leo get to his feet, Harry following a moment afterwards.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Master Black. I will see you bright and early on the twenty-fourth.”</p>
<p>“Thank you for your business, your Highness.” Regulus says it with patronisation clear in his tone. He looks to Harry next as he continues to speak. “This has been an… enlightening meeting.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
<p> </p>
<p>[HpHpHp]</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-0</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The letter from Snape is for a meeting at the Guild in order to reaffirm her apprenticeship on the second of August, luckily enough given they have plans today.</p>
<p>Slouched in her living room and clad in a stolen pair of Archie’s shorts and a floaty shirt made of light material, Harry continues to thumb through the newspaper as she waits for Archie to finish checking his face in the mirror. Again. For the fourth time so far. They’re just waiting on Lily now to finish up putting Addy to sleep and then they can head out. There’s some big kind of legislation that is being voted on today, so both James and Sirius are busy.</p>
<p>That leaves Remus in charge of Addy, and Lily to cart the two of them over to Hermione’s. It had taken Harry a half hour to explain to her mother why Harry needed her to accompany them through the floo. If it had been her father, Harry thinks with a scowl, it’d have taken ten minutes, tops. It’d been Lily who was free today and her mother is a muggleborn; she knew exactly what needles are and what they’re used for. As such, that thirty minutes of explanation time had actually been Harry stating she wanted to acquire some needles to use in her first-aid kit for healers, and then the next twenty-four minutes had been Lily giving the ‘don’t do drugs talk’. The entire time, Archie had sent her mutinous glares from the other side of the sofa, having had the misfortune of being in the room when Lily began talking. Admittedly, he’d gotten rather invested in the topic and the last five minutes had been Lily fielding Archie’s healer-based questions. And, well, Harry had learnt something, so there’s that to acknowledge too.</p>
<p>“Right, are we ready to go?” Lily appeared at the door, dressed in a casual flower print sundress that offset the bright red of her hair beautifully.</p>
<p>“You look wonderful, Aunt Lily,” Archie declares, rocketing to his feet and brushing the imagined dust from his pants. “And you didn’t even need to raid my wardrobe for that compliment.”</p>
<p>“I don’t have any shorts,” Harry grumbles, stuffing one hand in her (Archie’s) pocket while the other went up to adjust the strap of her potions bag. “I don’t really go anywhere that isn’t capable of being slathered in cooling charms.” True, she could just ask her magic to cool her down, it’d probably be more than happy to keep her body temperature at optimal conditions, but then her mother would surely notice if she weren’t sweating like a pig outside the butchers.</p>
<p>Flicking to another page of the paper, Harry stopped at the small note in the society pages, an uncomfortable lump forming in her throat. In small print, there’s a marriage announcement for Alesana Selwyn and Edmund Rockwood. They’d been officially married as of yesterday. She’d gotten- no. Rigel had gotten an invite, not her. She’d been happy for the two, had almost been looking forwards to attending the ceremony before the ruse had gone tits up. There’re no pictures, but then, she should have expected that. It’s just the announcement for the newspapers; there would probably be a picture of the happy couple in the next issue of Witch Weekly Magazine; any gossip-based news relevant to the SOW Party usually ended up splashed across the pages, given that Silas Misslethorpe, the current editor of the magazine, is a member of Riddle’s ridiculous cause.</p>
<p>“Harry?”</p>
<p>“Sorry-” Harry places the Prophet down on the coffee table, joining Archie and Lily by the fireplace. “-thought I saw a sale at Mulpepper’s.”</p>
<p>“Merlin forbid you miss half-price newts’ eyes.” Archie throws his arm over her shoulders, reeling her in until she’s pressed against his sweaty side. Now that she has no pressing need to gather Odour de Archie, Harry feels the wrinkling of her nose and disgusted downturn of her mouth is a more than acceptable response to the sudden close contact. Had any of her Slytherin friends sweated this much? She doesn’t think Draco had smelt in the slightest, even when they’d been doing physical activity around the lake. If he knew of her current line of thought, Draco would probably tip his chin up in the air, before primly informing her that ‘Malfoys don’t do something as plebeian as sweating. But, if they did, it certainly wouldn’t smell’. Only, he’ll never say anything like that again because she’s Harriet Potter, one of the ‘three’ people who made a mockery of the Malfoy name and the SOW Party as a whole and is thus not worthy of his time.</p>
<p>Even if she were to come clean about being Rigel, that could quite possibly be worse. She only needs to think of how he’d treated her when they met at the New Year Gala, that day she was actually Harriet Potter. That’d been when he, Theo and Blaise had been on their best behaviour to try and impress ‘Rigel’s fiancée’. Now, there’s no such limitations on him.</p>
<p>Besides, she’ll probably only ever see him if he needs a potion brewed and ventures into the Guild for it.</p>
<p>“Ready to go, Little Fawn?” Lily asks, reaching out to tweak her nose and Harry drums up a smile for her mother’s sake, pushing the dark thoughts to the back of her mind, to be reviewed later.</p>
<p>“Ready, Mum.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They come spinning out of the Grangers’ fireplace, Lily’s landing perfect and Harry’s an embarrassing contrast. She doesn’t end up on her hands and knees though, so Harry’ll take that for the win it is. Straightening up, Harry steps out of the way just in time as Archie comes striding out of the fireplace like he does it every day, the perfect picture of poise. From the smirk on his face, he knows it, too. Harry sticks out one leg to trip him up but her cousin deftly jumps over it, sticking his tongue out a moment later.</p>
<p>“Lily! You look well, it’s a pleasure to see you again!” Mrs Granger says.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Jean. I am once again so sorry for Harry and Archie’s-”</p>
<p>“Nonsense. While I’m aware of the implications for what they’ve done, the children were eleven. They’re entitled to mistakes in their youth, are they not?”</p>
<p>Ruefully ducking her chin down, Harry follows after Archie as he goes charging through the house, taking the steps two at a time to the next floor without so much as an invitation, calling Hermione’s name as he goes. Harry waves her mother a temporary goodbye as she ascends the stairs at a more sedated pace, listening to the bang of a door flying open and probably hitting the plaster-board wall on the swing around. Hermione’s half-startled, half-delighted call for Archie does make Harry pause on the stairs, dithering. Does she really want to start her career as a third wheel today? True, it would be a good trial run for when they get to AIM, but she would also very much like to avoid the sinking feeling that will no doubt take place in her guts as she watches the best friends interact. Because… that’d been her, Pansy and Draco once.</p>
<p>Perhaps she could spend the time meditating, making sure her occlumency is different enough from Rigel’s that not even Snape would be able to find some loose string to unravel?</p>
<p>“Harry! Get up here! I want to talk about the Fade stuff!” Or the three of them can act like true academics and get on with studying their shared interests.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, you can travel to other people’s magical cores?” They’ve deviated a bit from their original topic but, until Caelum can pass along the notes he had promised her from his family, they’ve not much to go on at the moment. Which is why they have ended up speaking of the Sleeping Sickness that ‘Rigel’ cured. It’s a risky play to make, but Harry has decided to claim Rigel taught her how to perform the very same thing that Pomfrey and Snape claimed ‘broke the rules of magic’. Oh, she’s not going to be advertising this fact, has no plans to tell anyone else, in truth. But, if there’s anyone else who can uncover the veracity of the Fade and needs all the cards she can possibly think to play, it’s Hermione Granger.</p>
<p>“That’s fascinating,” the other girl breathes, legs folded beneath her as she leans forwards, as if closer proximity will allow her to plumb the very depths of Harry’s mind for her every secret. She’s welcome to try; many have done so and all have failed so far. Even the ancient power that currently resides within her head can only review that about her life that she allows him to.</p>
<p>“Can we try it? I want to know what it feels like. The sheer potential such a technique has-” Hermione cuts off, her eager eyes finding Archie as she jolts rim-rod straight. “Let me try it! I know you’ve said Archie couldn’t do it, but maybe that’s because he doesn’t have any wild magic like we do! As a halfblood, your magic will behave differently to his, so if that’s the case, then I as a muggleborn should be able to replicate the technique!”</p>
<p>“Harry, she might have a point.”</p>
<p>While Harry silently agrees that one of the key differences between herself and Archie is indeed the state of their magic, she doesn’t think that it’s cold, hard logic making her cousin agree with the other girl. Especially if she takes into account the dopey grin that’s on his lips, the way that his hair is starting to curl and shimmer a dreamy pink. Now that he’s not permanently holding a specific shape, Archie’s metamorphmagus talent is responding more freely to his emotions. It’s a wonder Hermione hasn’t noticed yet. Or, Merlin forbid, maybe she thinks this is normal for Archie. The muggleborn is no doubt aware that Archie thinks the world of her, but if they’re not dating by Christmas, Harry is going to have to take things into her own romantically inexperienced hands. She refuses to deal with a lovesick, mopey Archie any longer than necessary.</p>
<p>“Okay, let’s try it. I’ll come through your core first- you can access your own mental landscape, right?”</p>
<p>“Of course. I started learning Occlumency on the off chance it ever spread to the States, even after I’d read that Rigel cured it.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Harry repeats and ensures her voice is strong and steady as she enunciates it. It’s not like she can reassure Hermione that such a thing will never pose a problem to her. Well, she can say so in regards to the Sleeping Sickness, given she’s fairly certain the origin of the disease is currently locked away in her vault, never to see the light of day again. But the skill could only help Archie’s best friend. “I’ll be over in a minute then.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Falling back into her own mindscape is practically as easy as breathing now; it comes naturally in the way only a technique tried and tested hundreds of times can. The scorching heat of the desert blasts against her skin, the sky here is clear and a light blue, her magical core residing at the very top of the pyramid moved in preparation for her potential visitor; they didn’t want Hermione being dropped into the centre of the pyramid with all those traps now, did they? She needs to ask Dom if he can come up with protections on that beyond the pyramid itself. Intruders won’t be able to get at it without scaling the pyramid, something they’d have to do from the inside, but she’d feel better about it if she knew there were other protections in place too, regardless of if it usually resides in the pyramid itself.</p>
<p>Heeding her thoughts, small clouds begin to gather around her sun, like those that surround the tallest peaks of mountain tops. They circle around her core before coming to a stop, perfectly still, like predators lying in wait.</p>
<p>“Thanks!” Harry calls to Dom,wherever he is lurking the great expanse of town that has become her mind. Probably being paraded through the streets on a palanquin, knowing him.</p>
<p>A cloud gathers at her feet, carrying her up towards her sun and Harry reaches out, brushing her fingers against the glowing orb and falling into the very epicentre of her magic. All at once, she’s aware of those that surround her; Archie’s playful bubbling brook and the stubborn stone that is Hermione. A long tongue of fire uncurls from her core, reaching out and she feels Hermione’s magic jolt at the sudden, unexpected contact. Projecting her consciousness along the line is easy, her magic a soothing coat of armour that carries her right along to Hermione’s core. She’s earth natured, Harry thinks. Hermione’s core seems to be an ore of some kind, silver in colour and it looks relatively solid. That’s not a problem, Harry has passed through a handful of earth cores as Rigel, so she approaches confidently.</p>
<p>“Hi, I’m Harry. Can you please let me into Hermione’s mindscape?” She feels the edges of her magic lick at that of Hermione’s, the metal rippling once in what Harry presumes to be welcome. She takes a step forward, presses her palm flat to the surface, and then she’s whisked inside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry stumbles out into a great stretch of moorland, odd rock formations rise from different sections as she steps out of the shadows that one casts. Clever, to hide her magical core in the shade cast by the rocks; even now, knowing it’s there, Harry has to squint and focus in order to see the gleam of metal hidden in the alcove. Very well hidden indeed. Now, she turns her attention to the rest of Hermione’s mindscape, admiring the stretch of lush green grass and the unusual rock formations. They look as if they have been weathered down, becoming these strange, smooth shapes; Harry reaches out and brushes her hand against one, impressed by how solid and realistic it seems.</p>
<p>“Harry!” Hermione comes dashing over, a smile on her face as her healer robes swish around her ankles. She must truly consider herself to be one if her mental avatar dresses as such. Not that Harry can really talk; unless Dom or herself wills her into different clothes, she’s always adorned in brewing robes and her trusty boots. She can feel the hard pressure of her new duelling knife pressing into her arm, and, when she rolls her sleeves up, Harry finds the disguised Malfoy gauntlets there. The thought of it sends a pang through her chest and Harry pushes it down, focusing on the reason they’re here.</p>
<p>“I like your mindscape, Hermione. It’s very English.”</p>
<p>“I modelled it after the Brimham Rocks in North Yorkshire. We went up there after my first year, when I’d just started learning Occlumency and the rock formations really left an impression on me at the time. It helps that I am earth natured, though I think my core is either an ore of silver or titanium. I haven’t managed to pin it down yet.” If Harry were to guess after working alongside her during the first few stages of the Triwizard Tournament, she’d assume titanium. Hermione’s key characteristics correlate nicely to titanium’s excellent corrosion resistance and its high strength to weight ratio.</p>
<p>“It’s nice,” Harry admits, stepping out onto one of the desire-paths worn into the moorland. There must be a lot of foot traffic at this Brimham Rocks, and if it looks anything like what Hermione has created in her mind, then it is probably worth a visit. She’s never been to Yorkshire, Harry realises with a frown. Maybe next summer she can go travel the country a bit, visit all the different sites where magical plants are grown as she explores the land. She might even get some cheap bargains. It’s a plan to be put on the backburner. Who knows, maybe she’ll make some friends at AIM and be able to invite them on the trip with her? Leo would probably be too busy with the Lower Alleys to be away for more than a day at a time and the thought of Caelum slumming it by camping, even if it’s a wizarding tent, is enough to bring a smile to her face.</p>
<p>“So, how do we do this?”</p>
<p>“We’ll go through your magical core, then see if you can reach out to mine. We’ll travel along that tendril of magic and you ask if you’re allowed in.”</p>
<p>Hermione frowns, brows scrunching over the bridge of her nose as she contemplates the skeleton of a plan. “It seems a bit too simple.”</p>
<p>“To me, it is, but everyone else seemed to think Rigel’s method was unusual.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hermione manages to make it down the tendril of magic, leaving them both before the swirling flames of Harry’s magic. As she resides on the outside of her core, away from her own mindscape, Harry can only compare the very centre of her magic to what she remembers seeing at the end of her first year, that summer where she had tried to get Archie to replicate her technique. Speaking of-</p>
<p>“Hermione, the only time someone else tried this, my magic snapped at them.” It had hurt Archie, she remembers. But, at the time, it’d felt far more hostile than what currently resides before her. Her magic is calmer now, more open and accepting. She wonders if that has to do with what had happened with- with Pettigrew. How she’d opened her arms and accepted it for what it was, all the while imposing her high standards on it. She’d expect her magic to be as welcoming to her friends as what she is in the waking world. That and, given Archie had been one of the key elements in the day she’d become fearful of her magic, perhaps it had recognised him. Perhaps that had been why it had struck out and refused him access.</p>
<p>She can feel the flames lick at her side, a sensation that feels much like how a purr sounds passing through her.</p>
<p>“I’m not Archie,” Hermione states, tilting her head back and facing down Harry’s fire with the stubbornness of a mountain. “I would like to be let in, please. If I can replicate this technique, then there’s every chance I can improve the field of healing using it, exactly like Harry wishes to do with her potioneering.” They both hold their breaths, for all that neither of them actually needs to.</p>
<p>The fire flashes forwards, swallowing them both and it is so incredibly bright.</p>
<p>Then, they’re standing upon the cloud Harry had summoned up to reach her sun, looking out over the great expanse of the Ancient Egyptian city Dom has constructed. From this high up, the illusions of people passing through the streets appear more like ants working on the farm, their cream coloured clothes light against the deep yellow of the sands reflecting the sun.</p>
<p>“This is incredible!” Hermione is right beside her, her lips parted as her head turns back and forth, attempting to take in the great stretch of Harry’s mindscape. The dunes in the distance distil into a hazy mirage before one can pinpoint the horizon, giving the illusion that the place stretches further than it actually does. A low whistle from below travels the impossible distance to reach Harry’s ears and she looks over the edge of the cloud, spotting Dom in all his pharaoh regalia staring up at her. Harry offers him a thumbs up in return, praying the other can recognise the signal enough to know he shouldn’t be turning all their defences upon Hermione. The last thing she wants is the very first person to replicate her technique coming out of it dripping with madness.</p>
<p>Her imprisoned construct narrows his eyes but dips his head, climbing regally back atop his throne to continue holding court with the imagined people. Do they count as figments of her imagination then? Or, since they’ve been brought into being by Dom, can they be classified as something else?</p>
<p>“Well, now we know you can get in through my core and it’s not just something only Rigel and I can do, maybe you can try it with Archie?”</p>
<p>“Oh, Harry! You have no idea how many potential avenues this has opened up for healing as a discipline! I can actually look at the state of a patient’s core- the implications this has for helping study the Fade is phenomenal! We could get a reading on what is happening with the infant and- I have to tell Archie! How do I get back?”</p>
<p>Amused, Harry turns back to her sun, gesturing for Hermione to step in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They spend another hour with Hermione testing her new technique, slipping into Archie’s mind after a great deal of concentration. That Archie still cannot replicate it (much to her cousin’s evident displeasure) only makes it seem more and more likely that this is a technique suited solely to those with wild magic. While multiple journeys had tired Harry terribly when she first performed it, Hermione still seems relatively fresh after two jaunts through their magical cores. It is only as they are making their way down to the kitchen for snack food that Harry realises why. She’d first performed the technique at eleven years old. Since then, she has had her thirteenth birthday; her core expanded terribly and, more importantly, Hermione would be in the same boat. Archie had already said his friend was above average when it came to power levels, so she shouldn’t be too surprised that Hermione isn’t tired yet. A handful more trips, and she probably would be.</p>
<p>Mystery solved, Harry slides onto one of the leather chairs that surround the Grangers’ dining room table, thanking Hermione’s father as he presents her with a toasted sandwich. Cheese leaks out from one side, a slice of tomato escaping near the bottom. It’s still hot, but not burning when she bites into it.</p>
<p>“Will you be joining Hermione and Archie in the Healers track, Harry?” It’s Mrs Granger that asks her. It’s been an unspoken question in the Potter household, one her parents hadn’t asked her and one Harry hadn’t truly thought about the answer for. She feels like a first year attempting her NEWTS; woefully underprepared and completely out of her depth. Potions is the only thing that has ever interested her but AIM’s Potions track is… lacklustre. And that’s her using a polite adjective.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure. Potions is all I’ve ever wanted to do but-” I think I’m beyond what they can teach me at AIM. Anything she doesn’t know on the curriculum, Harry’s quite certain she can teach herself. “Well, whichever one I choose, I’ll still be able to see Hermione and Archie out of it, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah! I mean, we’ll have different coursework, but there’s nothing to stop us working together on it. Just think, I’ll be the envy of every other guy when I have these two in my company. The beautiful Hermione on one side, then my pretty cousin on the other.” Archie laughs, bright and lively, nearly dropping his sandwich as he throws his head back with the sound.</p>
<p>If anything, the death of the ruse has resulted in a summer where Archie can laugh like that, free as the raven Harry can transform into. That, at the very least, has gone right. As long as Archie is in her life and capable of laughing like that, then Harry can carve her own way with whatever she’s got.</p>
<p> </p>
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<p>Upon arriving home and after ensuring Archie has flooed directly to Grimmauld, Harry stumbles into the living room of Potter Place to see her father sitting on the couch. He’s still in his ‘stuffy pounce-blood, don’t you laugh Harry, you’ll have a pair of your own one-day’ robes. What is totally at odds with how he usually is after attending a Wizengamot session is the bright, brilliant grin on his face.</p>
<p>Harry’s barely standing before James is there, sweeping her up into his arms and pressing her face into his collarbones. He’s got that fusty old wizard smell clinging to him; gross. Still, for all that it is a surprise, the hug is nice. She’s taller, fifteen by the amount of years since her birth but closer to seventeen, if not seventeen already, by how much time she has lived through. Life with a time turner makes her exact age difficult to estimate. In truth, she doesn’t want to work it out, even if she’s got all of the extra hours she’s lived written down in a little notebook she hasn’t touched since that day Pettigrew kidnapped her. It doesn’t matter anyway. She is what she is now. Harriet Potter, a halfblood and fifteen years old. She can’t afford to be anything but.</p>
<p>“Hi Dad. Everything okay?”</p>
<p>“Beyond okay, Little Fawn. I have news. Big news!” He sweeps her off her feet, spinning her around at a speed Harry would be more comfortable with if she were in control of the motion. As things stand, she feels rather sick going around in circles through no conscious effort of her own.</p>
<p>“James?”</p>
<p>“Lily!”</p>
<p>Harry is unceremoniously dropped as James makes for her recently arrived mother, scooping her up until she’s curled up in his arms bridal style. By Merlin, what on earth happened? She looks around but there’s no emergency issue of the Daily Prophet, which means it’s not some grand news that will affect everyone in the country. So, it must be something more personal then. Given where James has just been-</p>
<p>“Has Riddle been hit by the Knight Bus or something?” She cannot think of anything else that would put her father in such a wondrous mood.</p>
<p>James barks out a laugh, a response that proves he’s spent far too much time with Sirius this week. “If only we could be so lucky,” he grumbles, nuzzling into the crook of Lily’s neck and Harry looks away to give the illusion of privacy. It is another blatant reminder of just how in love her parents are, married for over fifteen years now and just as strong as ever for it.</p>
<p>“Ha-ree?” Addy, having arrived at the living room door, stares questioningly at the spectacle their parents are making. Remus is just a step behind her, his eyebrows high on his forehead. He looks to Harry, offering a half-hearted shrug.</p>
<p>“No idea I’m afraid, Harry. He’s been vibrating with excitement ever since he got back.” Huh.</p>
<p>Harry turns around to look at her dad again, watching him rock her giggling mum back and forth and it sends an ache through her core. At the age of eleven, she’d been adamant that she didn’t need a partner, didn’t need to get married because all that mattered was potions. But, that’s not true anymore, is it? If her time as Rigel has taught her anything it is that, when it comes down to the wire, there are things more important to her than potions. It’s why she’d been willing to die to stop the Riddle Construct, why she’d held out so long against Pettigrew. It’s why she’d thrown herself head-first into the Triwizard Tournament. It has become evidently clear throughout the years that, while Harry may know what she needs, she’s not quite sure what she wants. Not until she’s already managed to stumble upon it and then faced the threat of losing it. She has so many wants, so many things that she doesn’t need in order to continue on her path but longs for anyway. Some of them are now out of reach by her own actions (her friends, for example) while some of them she has managed to cling to (Leo, Caelum, her apprenticeship with Snape). All of it, barring the apprenticeship with Snape, are things she hadn’t gone looking for. Worse, she had actively tried to discourage Pansy and Draco from befriending her. In fact, she’d done the same with Leo and Caelum; though with admittedly less determination. Probably because she was actually Harriet Potter when she met them and there’d been the underlying idea of ‘I can actually keep these ones’ for when the ruse was up.</p>
<p>“Harry! I need to talk to you alone!” James plants Lily back on her feet, swanning up to her instead, and Harry expertly pushes down the panic in her chest. After all, this is the last emotion she’d be expecting to see on her father’s face if he knew the truth.</p>
<p>“Sure-” She pauses, a terrible idea racing through her mind as she looks up at her father in a panic. “-Master Snape didn’t get attacked, did he?!”</p>
<p>Thankfully, the answer is no and Harry doesn’t even try to hide her relief, even as Remus laughs at her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>James leads her up to his office, both hands on her shoulders as he gently pushes her to take a seat, bouncing around to his own chair and throwing himself down into it. It spins around, enchanted to act as the seats within muggle offices do, only without the physical element of wheels being present on the legs of the chair. Harry does her best not to fidget, scanning the room to locate the new inventions in hopes one isn’t pointed her way and this is all an elaborate prank. She doesn’t think it would be; usually, after a Wizengamot session, her father is far too drained to even manage small talk at the kitchen table over dinner, nevermind unleash the latest and greatest of the Marauder line.</p>
<p>“Right, Harry, Little Fawn.” James smiles, still looking like a child that's been told the government had met for talks and agreed to implement a second Yule during the summer holidays. “I know there’s the whole schooling issue that we haven’t dealt with, it’s been lingering in the back of my head and I think it’s safe to say it’s the same with you, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Harry agrees easily, settling herself more comfortably into her chair now that she has an idea of where this is going. She’s already been mulling the topic over since Hermione’s parents made such a blatant showing of just which track she would be joining in AIM. It’s stung to think she’ll have to either accept a substandard education in her favourite subject or pick a different discipline altogether. “I gathered that there wouldn’t be the time to home-school me and you’d want the reassurance of a quality education, but AIM’s Potions track is just so outdated-”</p>
<p>“How would you like to go to Hogwarts.” It all comes out as a rush, as if James has been hit with a babbling curse but he’s making sense. Or, the words make sense. The actual sentence, the context of it, escapes Harry and strikes like a barb all at once. She can’t think of what to say, can’t begin to formulate a question beyond a single word.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Dumbledore pushed it through today,” James races on, the words still falling from his mouth at such a rapid pace Harry can barely process them, too in shock to really focus. “There was a big opening speech about the potential half-bloods have exhibited in the past decade despite the ban placed on Hogwarts, how it’s crippling the nation by letting talented children slip right through their fingers and risk potentially losing the innovation to other nations- he used you as one of the examples, Harry!” James throws himself back in his chair, grin still threatening to split his face at the seams as he runs one hand through his already wild hair. Then, in a quieter voice, he tacks on, “He also said if the ban wasn’t in place, that Rigel bastard would have been able to attend as a true student instead of having to play games with his life for an education, and now they’ve lost a child with all that talent.”</p>
<p>“Dad, what are you saying?” Harry thinks she understands what he’s saying, she thinks she gets the implications but… she just can’t believe it. Can’t accept what he’s implying until it’s stated outright.</p>
<p>“Dumbledore put forward the motion of allowing half-bloods to attend Hogwarts again. And it passed.”</p>
<p>“It passed,” Harry repeats in a daze, slumping back into her chair, boneless. How on earth would such a motion pass? It was outrageous; the Wizengamot was perfectly balanced most of the time, it was the exact reason why Dumbledore’s every attempt to repeal the law so far had failed. So, what made this time so different?</p>
<p>She says as much to James and he frowns, lips pressing into a hard line that he can’t hold for long, not when he’s still so delighted with the news.</p>
<p>“As much as I want to string the Rigel kid up by his thumbs, his whole existence has struck a blow with the COW Party. The weaker links all voted in favour… though so did Malfoy and a few of his lot. They’re probably gonna make a play of it during this trial run.”</p>
<p>“Trial run?”</p>
<p>Harry sits perfectly still, just listening to her father explain the details that’d been hashed out while she’d been at the Grangers’ place, blissfully unaware of how her own world was changing. How the government had allocated this coming year to be the ‘trial year’, in which exemplary half-bloods would be invited to join Hogwarts and prove they were worthy of their place there. She listens how the Aldermasters of the different Guilds had come forward to throw a few names into the ring. She’s touched, but not surprised, to hear Leo’s father never even hesitated to put her forwards for the opportunity, no doubt aware that she’d have given her left arm to learn under Professor Snape. Her heart aches with the thought because she can’t go to Hogwarts. Can’t risk the ruse.</p>
<p>Only, Harriet Potter has no reason to not go either. She supposedly has no further secrets, has made it clear to all who know her that she’d kill to learn under Master Snape, that she does not want to go to AIM to learn via their Potions track. She’s fallen into a trap of her own making, she realises, pushing down the hysterical laugh that wants to bubble up and out of her throat. She’s made it clear she thinks half-bloods should be allowed at Hogwarts, that she’s aware her chances for a future are better with a Hogwarts education behind her if only she were allowed to go. And now, here is the opportunity. Only, she will put everything at risk by exposing herself to all those who’d known her only as Rigel. She can not afford to allow them to make the connection between Harriet Potter and Rigel Black. And yet, to deny the opportunity would be even more suspicious.</p>
<p>There is no winning play here, no move she can make that is perfectly safe. And she knows the path she must travel in order to get what she wants with the least suspicion.</p>
<p>She has to accept this opportunity. She has to go back to Hogwarts.</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t realise she’s crying until her dad breathes her name, near leaping over his desk to get to her. She’s enfolded in his arms a moment later, her chin tucked against his shoulder as one of James’ hands cups the back of her head, telling her she doesn’t need to go, that he’s sure there’ll be other half-bloods who can attend and that they’ll show everyone that people like her deserve to go to Hogwarts.</p>
<p>But, that’s exactly the reason she needs to attend. Because, if she can get this right, if she can force them to open Hogwarts up to other half-bloods… Addy will be able to go. Her darling little sister will be able to experience the castle as Harry never got to; she’ll be able to attend and know that it is the place she belongs, the place she should be.</p>
<p>Even if she weren’t doing this in order to avoid raising a big red flag to her own actions, Harry knows she’d still go. It is the opportunity of a lifetime, the opportunity to flip everything on its head. The COW Party is still reeling from the Rigel reveal, Dumbledore has the momentum to push this through and now, Harry needs to do her part. She needs to help out.</p>
<p>She needs to go to Hogwarts.</p>
<p>“I’ll do it, Dad. I’ll go to Hogwarts.” Pulling herself back from the embrace, Harry lets all the determination, all the tenacity she feels bubbling in her guts boil over to show on her face. “I’ll show them exactly what a half-blood can do.”</p>
<p>James blinks the wide hazel eyes that she’d apparently had at birth. Then, a slow, proud smile blooms on his lips.</p>
<p>“That’s my girl.”</p>
<p> </p>
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<p>On the second of August, Harry is awake bright and early, her rudimentary home-medic kit slung over one shoulder, potions bag over the other. She has an agenda today beyond meeting Master Snape (soon to be Professor Snape again). She has plans to make regarding Hogwarts, needs to draw clean lines between herself and Rigel, needs to make it clear what is different about them and what similarities she can allow. She needs to plot with Dom, needs to strategise what she can and can’t do while she’s there. She’ll have to talk to Archie too, though his part in the ruse is now up. It is for the best that he’ll be in America while she’s there. It’s everything both of them ever wanted; Archie learning healing as himself at AIM, Harry chasing her potioneering dream at Hogwarts. And yet, the risks are so very, very large. The reward will be worth it though. It’s the very reason she got into all of this. And, if worst comes to worst and she is caught, Harry can always claim Archie thought there was a third person, that she hid the fact she was Rigel from him as well. They’ll be so furious with her that Archie will be fine.</p>
<p>The sun has been in the sky for not even two hours yet, an early summer riser and the shops of Diagon are only just beginning to awaken. Harry powers down the cobblestones, her magic rolling restlessly behind her breastbone with the anticipation that is filling her. She has so much to do beyond today but she also needs to offer Mr Hurst her heartfelt gratitude that he’d put her name forwards, that he’d put the weight of his position behind her. It means more than she’d ever thought it could, and she’s always had a high opinion of the Aldermaster of the Potions Guild. He’d also promised to check her home-medic kit, hence why she has that shoved over one shoulder. Once that’s done, she can begin building her stock to sell at Leo’s festival; she’ll have a couple of weeks until that’s upon her, so there’s plenty of time. Then, there’s her work with Snape, which they’ll be looking at during their meeting today. For that, she has the needles Hermione’s parents had supplied her with yesterday, once Lily had given her official stamp of approval. She also has to go through all the hazards that come with using needles, hence why they’ll be part of the medic-kits for healers. The warning about air embolism when injecting into the blood had been particularly worrisome, for all that it was said to be rare in the muggle world.</p>
<p>Regardless, Harry has some heavy duty reading to do that she will then pass on to Archie to review.</p>
<p>Harry turns onto Craftsman Alley, stopping by one of the kids at the corner who’s selling fruit. She doesn’t recognise him, but there’s no doubt he’s one of Leo’s. There’s something about the face of the kids involved in the Court of Rogues, Harry realises, that makes them easy to recognise. Or, perhaps, she has just become better at recognising them with exposure to their way of life.</p>
<p>“Miss Harry,” the kid greets her by name, smiling up at her and he’s missing a canine. He’s young enough that it’s probably not been lost in a fight, but Harry makes a mental note to whip up another batch of potion to regrow teeth. It’s the one branch-off of Skele-Gro that she’d never bothered to learn the name off by heart, something she’ll be rectifying shortly.</p>
<p>“Hi, er-”</p>
<p>“Name’s Justin. Can I interest you in an apple?”</p>
<p>“I’d love an apple. If I pay double, will you relay a message to the King for me?” Justin’s auburn eyebrows shoot up, a sly smile crossing his face as he plucks an apple from his bag. In an impressive display of showmanship, he rolls it along the length of his arm, across his shoulders, to his other hand before holding it out to her with a grin. She’s going to give him triple the price, just for that. With how she’s brewing with a vengeance right now, it’s not like she doesn’t have the money to spare.</p>
<p>“Always happy for an excuse to talk to the King. My Sis is sweet on ‘im, she is.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Harry says after a moment’s pause, accepting the apple and pressing the correct coinage into the kid’s hand. “Can you let him know I’m going to be holed up in the Potions Guild for what might be several hours today. If I get out at a reasonable time, then I’ll try and find him for once.” It’d make a nice change to see if she can appear out of the mist and scare the living daylights out of him for once. She won’t even use her cloak… yet. If it doesn’t work this time, she can’t make any promises on her next attempt to catch him unaware.</p>
<p>Justin grins, rubbing a finger along the skin beneath his nose before swinging his hand around so it’s pressed to his lips instead. “I’ll keep quiet and pass the message once I can. ‘Is Highness will probably enjoy the challenge of trying to catch you.”</p>
<p>“Good. I intend to make it a challenge this time. And yes, you can tell him that.”</p>
<p>Justin laughs, pocketing her coin and offering her a wave goodbye.</p>
<p>         </p>
<p>                                                                                                              </p>
<p>Harry continues on to the Guild, sliding in through the front doors and bouncing up to the desk. The receptionist isn’t here yet but that’s hardly a surprise; it is before nine, after all. Instead, Harry flicks through the list of rooms that are booked up today, finding that room twenty-seven is reserved for one ‘Master Snape’. It’s booked out for the whole day and Harry doesn’t bother trying to suppress her grin. She can’t wait to see what her former/future professor has come up with in regards to her shape imbuing technique. Caelum has findings for her to discuss with him as well. It’s been a rocky few years, but things are now finally levelling out, stabilising and leaving her hopeful for the future.</p>
<p>Another look at the list showcases that the Aldermaster is already present in the building within his office and, a quick check at the board behind the reception desk shows that he’s free. Professor Snape did say they were to meet at nine, so she’s got the time to go and pop in on Leo’s father and deliver her home-medic kit.</p>
<p>Harry makes her way down the corridors, one hand wrapped around the strap of her potions kit. She knocks with a free hand, pushing open the door once she’s given the call to come in. Master Hurst’s office is exceptionally neat; there’s an entire wall full of shelves, each one packed to the brim with potions books, periodicals or other relevant texts. There are two benches off to the left, empty cauldrons sitting atop them, though they’re more likely being studied for the cauldrons’ properties. Why would Master Hurst attempt to brew in an office that could have all sorts of contamination by the owls that no doubt flutter in, or the floo powder that gets thrown into the fireplace when he has any number of labs open to him? Still, she wonders what he’s looking into in regards to the cauldrons. She’ll have to keep an eye on the latest findings the Guild publishes. As if she’s not already doing that.</p>
<p>“Ah! Harry! My favourite up and coming potioneer!”</p>
<p>“Don’t let anyone else hear that please, Mr Hurst,” Harry says with a grin, removing the bagful of new potions to place it upon Mr Hurst’s desk. “I don’t want anyone thinking I only got in because I have connections.”</p>
<p>“If anyone thinks that, they’ve clearly never bothered to look at your work,” Mr Hurst grumbles, pulling the bag across the oak surface and flipping back the lid. He lifts one up, inspecting the light pink potion before turning it around to peruse the label. “Fixing Big Bleeds Potion?” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head in mock sadness. “We must work on how you are naming these potions, Harry.”</p>
<p>Harry just nods, biting her tongue. There’s no need to voice how she sees no need to give the potions she creates a fancy name. If they’re named for what they do, then there’s no way anyone could ever get confused with them, is there?</p>
<p>“Are you still happy to check it all over, Mr Hurst?”</p>
<p>“Of course, of course. Even before the whole ordeal at the Clinic, I’d have been happy to help you, Harry. Given your pioneering research, well- I’m eager to review this all, that’s for certain.”</p>
<p>“About the Clinic thing,” Harry starts, worrying her lip back and forth but this an opportunity she cannot afford to pass up, a way to tie one loose end ever so neatly for the ruse. “Can I ask for a favour. It’s not anything bad, but-”</p>
<p>“Harry,” Mr Hurst cuts in, his brow heavy as he sets the Big Bleeds potion back into the home-medic kit, closing the flap and giving her his full attention. “You saved my life that day, perhaps Eleni’s too. Whatever you want, I will do my utmost best to help you.”</p>
<p>“Can you say you taught me free-brewing?” It races out of her mouth before she can stop it, the eagerness to plug this hole in the story giving the words speed they otherwise should not have access to. At the Aldermaster’s worried look, Harry hastily continues. “I already know how to do it; I’ve been trained by a certified master but I can’t say who. And, given how I will be attending Hogwarts now, Professor Snape will be able to further my education in regards to it but I cannot claim to not know because it’ll be obvious I already do know.”</p>
<p>“If that is how you wish for me to fulfil the debt I have to you, then I would be happy to claim it, Harry. Just, swear to me you have been taught by a certified Master. Put my mind at ease.”</p>
<p>Harry does so without hesitation, feeling her magic pulse as she gives the oath that Mr Hurst has requested of her. She can feel the relief now, how it lays itself across her shoulders like a shroud, invoking a strange sense of calm. When had it been, the last time she’d felt excitement and peace to this extent? Perhaps the ruse truly had run away with itself if this is the first time she can remember in recent months feeling like this.</p>
<p>“Thank you, by the way,” Harry says softly, adjusting the strap of her potions bag and meeting Mr Hurst’s gaze, “for putting my name forwards yesterday, at Wizengamot.”</p>
<p>“Harry, lass, if there’s any half-blood I know who can show all those pompous purebloods what they’re worth, it’s you. Just go do what you do best.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She leaves the Aldermaster’s office with a smile on her face and one life-debt less. It’s a relief to have gotten rid of one and acquired an iron-clad defence for her free-brewing ability in one fell swoop. There won’t be anyone who could contradict the Aldermaster saying he has taught her the technique, which means that, with any luck, Snape will progress her to a more advanced stage when she arrives at Hogwarts.</p>
<p>It’s still so weird to think that, even in her own mind. She, Harriet Potter, half-blood, is going to Hogwarts. She’s going as herself, a half-blood and there’s the heavy weight of knowing the future of all half-bloods’ (and perhaps muggleborns if she opens the way for it) education rests on her shoulders. She is Atlas, but she will gladly accept the burden, will do her utmost best to hold up the world. She will have to be alert though; if Lucius Malfoy and ‘his lot’, as her father had so delicately put it, had voted in favour of the act, then there’s probably some kind of scheme afoot in regards to that. Riddle is walking a dangerous line, but she had never managed to get an agreement out of him in regards to the SOW Party sticking their nose into the laws on education. That they would even vote in favour of this isn’t just a red flag; it’s fireworks on New Year, it’s Sirius’ overly extravagant Halloween decorations, it’s a Weird Sisters’ concert blaring at full volume. They’re no doubt up to something but Harry cannot allow that to stop her. So, she’ll just have to be prepared to face it.</p>
<p>Stopping outside of room twenty-seven, she takes a moment to straighten her brewing robes, to ensure everything is just right and she looks as presentable as possible. After all, this is her first meeting with Professor Snape since she began the Polyjuice for him. They are going to review her status as his apprentice and how they are going to approach exploring the shape imbuing technique further. Excitement squirms in her guts as she knocks on the door, striding through the second it opens to welcome her inside.</p>
<p>Only, it’s not Professor Snape waiting for her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s Riddle.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A big thank you to; Dorleing, Ergonomicfloor, and Rime who checked through different parts of this in an attempt to cull my many, many errors.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <b> SPOILERS for latest FF Chapter</b>
</p><p>Following on from the latest chapter of FF to come out, I just wanna clear up some of the discrepancies between my fic and the latest chapter.</p><p>1. Draco never caught Harry before she left Hogwarts, ergo, the life debt hasn't been called in.<br/>2. The marriage law passed the morning of the final task in my fic.<br/>3. Dom retained a small amount of the magic he threw at the Construct in the final task (gonna have to double check that though, so subject to change).</p><p>Finally, the last 1,300-ish words of this aren't betaed (and were also the only thing written after the latest chapter of FF was published)? I'm impatient and wanted to put this up and will fix the faults in it when Cupcake gets back to me. Enjoy?</p><p>A big thank you to; PrettyPinkCupcake who checked through this and has put up with my instant need to place commas against her better judgement &amp; my dislike of the word 'that'.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s like a horrible flashback to her third year, only it’s not in her head, it’s not a memory because there is Riddle, sitting in potions lab twenty-seven like he belongs there, like he’s what she’d been expecting to see upon walking through the threshold. Like he has every right to be there when it most certainly should have been Professor Snape who is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not here</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riddle is as sharply dressed as ever, hair neatly combed back from his forehead to fall in crisp waves to one side, only highlighting the stark contrast his dark eyes make against the pale tones of his skin. He’s utterly focused on her, and has been since she stepped foot in the room. Harry’s magic rises in warning, swarming about within her mindscape. She can only pray that Dom well and truly does have the fragment of the man’s magic entombed because, if not, this will be the end of everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heiress Potter,” Riddle begins, a smile crossing his face and, despite the warmth of his tone and the friendliness projected by his expression, Harry isn’t fooled in the slightest. “At last we meet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t say I feel the same way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riddle’s smile thins as the only other chair in the room edges back towards her.   Harry takes the unspoken invitation to sit down, planting her potions bag in her lap and keeping the strap slung over her shoulder. She isn’t using the object as a shield, she tells herself. No, it’s there so that, should she need to make a quick exit, it can be manoeuvred with the least amount of jostling for the potions inside. Yes, it has a cushioning charm on it but who knows what type of magic Riddle might unleash upon her if this is his threatening, ‘I know what you did’ intervention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rolling her shoulders back, Harry ensures she’s sitting comfortably before she meets Riddle’s eyes, secure in the knowledge that Dom will be defending her mind. Riddle might be rumoured to be an exceptionally subtle Legilimens, but Harry knew for certain that Dom had driven people mad. In a face off between the two, her galleons would be on the ancient gem occupying her mind. After all, the megalomaniac in her head has got centuries of experience and a better track record of victories than the one in front of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How delightfully rude,” Riddle drawls and there is no sense of his invasion within the room. Instead, he occupies the chair upon which he sits as if it is a throne, speaks as if every word from his mouth is an edict  by which all should live, as if he is the king that should rule above all for his way is the right way. It sets Harry’s nerves on edge but it shouldn’t. “I wonder who you picked that up from.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She has several ways she could play this; she could head in ‘blind’, acting as if Rigel has never shared just how volatile a relationship he had with Riddle, how they’d pushed and ground on each other as they both strove to better society by fashioning it accordance with that they envisioned. Then, she could play the angle that Rigel shared all, every last detail but, for all that Riddle has grappled at bringing Rigel to heel, he needs to find Harriet Potter a very different beast to tangle with. Each of these options has its merits, but it’s the third one she’s going to have to go with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She does so hate to play it by ear but, the truth is, she doesn’t know what Riddle knows. Her best bet is to play reactive in the conversation, instead of proactive or nonreactive. Deny all knowledge of Rigel’s current location (not hard, given that he no longer exists), make explicitly clear that Archie has indeed been her the entire duration of their magical education (not hard, given that Archie has been Harriet Potter at AIM), and hammer home that she’s been self-studying. Not exactly hard, given that Riddle himself is aware that she’s been taking correspondence courses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t find Rigel, if that’s why you’re here,” Harry states, crossing her legs and calmly cupping her hands together in her lap, ‘innocent unicorn’ expression adorning her features. “Not that I’d help you even if I could.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So antagonistic, Miss Potter. I’ve heard whispers that Rigel has done something implicitly stupid in order to evade capture; is it true you are now a Parselmouth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is Master Snape going to turn up today, or should I just go?” Because she doesn’t have to be here, Harry realises. She doesn’t have to interact with Riddle, she doesn’t have to listen to what he wants to say, she doesn’t have to sit here and be interrogated. She, Harriet Potter, has done nothing wrong. If Riddle truly believed he had her cornered, he would have lured her in with a hint. Even if he suspects her of being Rigel, then he can’t possibly have any proof. He’d have led the conversation with that, if that were the case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry waits for Riddle to answer her question but, when he just continues to look at her expectantly, Harry nods. Then, she rises to her feet and makes for the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It slams shut in her face; she was kind of expecting it, but it’s still annoying nonetheless. Still, she’s prompted a reaction, made it clear she doesn’t want to dance to his tune. He may have cornered Rigel by appealing to the ‘Black Heir’s’ altruism, but that’s not her. He cannot know what strings to pull here, what buttons to push in order to get a reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though it’s far from the only problem, Harry’s key issue in this moment in time is that she doesn’t know why Riddle’s here. She can make a couple of convoluted guesses, but there’s no assurance she will pin the reason down without any insights into his reasoning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Retake your seat, Miss Potter. Let us say our piece and then we can both go about our day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry retakes her seat. It’s evident that she won’t be going anywhere until Riddle gets to say his piece. Still-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does the Aldermaster know you’re here? It was to my knowledge that only Masters and  apprentices can book out rooms and I don’t recall seeing a ‘Tom Riddle’ on the registry. It certainly would have stood out for me-” Harry eyes Riddle as she adjusts her seating position, unsheathing her wand because damn manners, if he wanted manners, he should have cornered her at a Gala or other such party. “-I mean, what with it being such a common muggle-like name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riddle smiles but there’s no warmth to it. She doesn’t care. He’s the one that decided they’re enemies, not her. If he wanted nice, he shouldn’t have tried to interfere with her employment opportunities. He shouldn’t have rammed through a law forcing those like her to marry his specific people. He shouldn’t have barred her from getting an education at Hogwarts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should not have threatened her family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She feels her magic whip around her, drawing up a single lash of wind that strikes the floor with a bang, but they both ignore it. Harry’s not too bothered; as long as she doesn’t allow her magic to take on a similar form to what Rigel’s exhibited, it won’t matter. After all, her mother was well known for her volatile magic- No. No, that’s the hubris talking. She’s gotten away with the ruse so far because she’s been careful, she cannot allow the fact she has gotten away with it so far to cloud her judgement. Showcasing that she has a great deal of magic is fine; letting it show that her magic can do things beyond the norm as Rigel’s had done is something that she must avoid. Inhaling slowly, Harry looks to Riddle again and waits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His opening move is not what she expects.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Congratulations on your acceptance into Hogwarts. Based on the results you have secured through your correspondence classes and your achievements within the very walls of this Guild; I am sure you will take this opportunity for what it is. I can only hope you will thrive in the competitive environment that is Britain’s most premier wizarding school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it weren’t for your laws, Mr Riddle, I could have been thriving since I was eleven.” Instead, here she sits at fifteen (going on seventeen, if she’s not there already) with her first real opportunity to go to the school under her own name. “Can we just get to the reason why you’re here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am sure that there must have been some form of correspondence passed between yourself, Heir Black and Rigel; he shared my reasoning for the new law, didn’t he?” Riddle pauses, waiting until she has nodded before he continues to speak. “Excellent. Then you will understand why it is imperative that powerful, skilled halfbloods get their turn in the limelight. I have an offer for you, Harriet Potter. Some of the SOW Party members have proven somewhat …  resistant to the concept, despite the fact it is all for their own good. There will be a lot of unnecessary infant deaths if they continue down the same vein- you have a little sister, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want me to be your new poster child.” The absurdity of this is like a slap in the face. First, Rigel as the quintessential pureblood and now he wants her to prove that a drop of muggle-blood isn’t so bad? Nevermind the allusion of a threat towards Addy. Harry’ll kill this man before he lets her anywhere near her little sister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve spent years undermining people like my mother, making life difficult, passing legislation and hammering at the issue from all sides. Do you really expect me to even consider working with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The sacrilege of this situation has already boggled my mind, Miss Potter. Prior to the uncovering of Rigel’s duplicity, I had believed that your influence over the Black Heir was a threat, but now I understand it was never the Black Heir I was dealing with. How remarkably alike you are to our little pureblood pretender.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riddle doesn’t know. If he knew, if he had proof, he’d have threatened her with the knowledge already, would have boxed her into a corner with it and told her the only way out was to dance to his tune for eternity. He doesn’t hold all the cards. Constantly reminding herself of that doesn’t stop the slight tremor in her hand, or hide the tremor from Riddle.  She can only hope he doesn’t notice it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you going to do if I say no? Bar me from Hogwarts? I’ve gotten by on my own so far and I don’t care how many pies you’ve rammed your fingers into. I’ll carve out a path with my bare hands if I have to.” Harry hisses, fingers clenching into the brewing robes that cover her legs and she bites back the rest of the tirade that wants to come spilling out, to flow and drown the bastard sitting opposite her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is no wonder the boy was so willing to throw you to the dragons when I threatened him with your future; you truly do think that you have a chance of ignoring the political happenings of our world. Rigel may have tied my hands on legislation regarding employment, healthcare and marriage, but these are hardly the cornerstones that make up our world. Ceasing attempts with my own legislation and preventing Dumbledore from passing his own are two very different things.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why me? I wasn’t the only half-blood put forward.” There’d been others nominated by Guilds and, the second that the reform is announced in the papers, Harry suspects there will be a few more applications submitted.  She wonders if Daphne once-Greengrass-now-Cresswell, will return to Hogwarts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rigel’s exposure as a half-blood has fractured confidence in pureblood supremacy and given momentum to Dumbledore’s side, for now. While that may be enough to sway some of the more pliable families, it is never those families that have faced the biggest risks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If families such as the Malfoys and the Lestranges wish to interbreed themselves out of existence, then that just ensures a better political landscape in my opinion.” Harry smiles sweetly after she’s spoken, pushing down the guilt she feels about dragging her friends’ families into this quandary she has found herself in with Riddle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waving his hand, a king batting aside a peasant’s worthless concerns, Riddle offers her a grin that’s all teeth. “Oh, I’m no longer worried about the Lestrange family, but that is not one of the things I have come here to discuss with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cornered me, you mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of which,” Riddle continues mercilessly, squashing her interruption as effectively as Harry handles bubotuber pus. “Your showing in the Lower Alleys, I’ve heard, was exemplary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have no proof I was there during the attack on the Maywell Clinic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was referring to the free-duelling tournament a year past.” Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Harry says, her voice dead even to her own ears. Not only has she admitted her role in the defence of Maywell by her declaration that there is no proof Riddle can produce without admitting to acquiring confidential information from the Auror office, but the very fact he’s so much as mentioning the tournament means he’s got ears in the Alleys. Of course, Regulus. She’ll have to warn Leo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, you don’t,” Riddle agrees easily, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair and affixing a bored expression upon his face. “I am sure the contestant known simply as ‘Harry’ who used a shield in a manner suspiciously similar to what Rigel exhibited during the Triwizard Tournament, a shield you have admitted is employed within your now famous Potter’s Portable Protection Potion, is all pure happenstance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry states. “Regardless, rumours aren’t enough to convict a person,” Harry muses, smoothing her thumb down the edge of her wand. Riddle follows the motion with his eyes, analysing the wood of her wand and Harry suppresses the smirk. Had Riddle really been expecting to see Rigel’s wand in her hand? He wouldn’t be incorrect in his assumptions but, with her glamour potion in place, even he cannot deny that it appears she has a wand made of elm. If he’s frustrated, it doesn’t show on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is enough to slander a reputation though, isn't it?” What.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s- that’s the exact words that she’d used-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If our discussion is just to consist of defamatory accusations, then I’m afraid I have other, more productive things I can be doing. I do hope you aren’t in a habit of cornering many teenage girls, Mr Riddle.” She can’t think about that now, will have to review the memory with Dom later to work out just how much the man before her knows. Does he suspect? Quite possibly at this point. But there’s no evidence he could possibly have, otherwise she’d be on trial by now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I must commend you on your aura, Miss Potter. It has taken a fair bit of focus as we have been sitting here in order for me to confirm that it is falsified.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rigel only promised to keep secret what he learnt in the Malfoy study. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How very lucky that you ssshould curssse in Parssseltongue loud enough to be heard from the hallway.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Riddle’s eyes sharpen at that, rising as his spine straightens from a relaxed confidence to confidently alert. If he has decided she is a threat at this moment in time, Harry cannot say. But he’s certainly paying her a sliver more attention than he had done previously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Rigel doesss keep interesssting company.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what kind of company he keeps now,” Harry says with a smile. “I do have a serpent related question though. During the Maywell attack, I saw a symbol stamped upon the arm of one of the ‘Death Eaters’. Given our now shared trait, I wondered if you knew the significance of this.” Summoning a piece of parchment from the countertop built into the eastern wall, Harry conjures up a quill and creates a quick sketch of the tattoo she’d seen on the woman’s arm. While the Auror office had confirmed that they were making efforts to arrest the woman in question, there’s every chance she could get away, every chance that the culprit is smart enough to recognise that the shedding of her own blood could lead to her identification.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once complete, Harry offers the drawing to Riddle, making no move to stand up and close the space between them. He doesn’t rise to collect it from her, as much as she’d have liked that to happen. Instead, he summons it, assessing the drawing with a frown that turns downright ugly when he places it. The parchment in his hands goes up in a flare of blue flames and Harry forcibly stills any other reaction barring the widening of her eyes, even as her own magic lashes protectively at her innards. She can’t use the Depasco Shield, she might as well openly admit to being Rigel instead and save her magic the trouble. The Fortis is it then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only, Riddle doesn’t attack. Instead, he flicks the ashes away from himself, forcing a shallow breeze to carry them out under the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much of his second year did Rigel share you with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough to know that you have a mutual enemy running around and that I should be wary.” She’s not about to admit to anything more than that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That mark is how he is marking his followers, </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatever foolsss he can sssteal and ssswindle to hisss ssside, asss if they can ignore all that I have done for them.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shelf full of vials shatter, glass shards scattering across the floor like confetti from a particularly violent piñata; they bounce off of Harry’s shield with light chimes, a sound terribly at odds with the mood that has descended upon the room. It’s a waste of perfectly good vials is what it is and, if this is Riddle trying to scare her with the weight of his magic or just him losing his temper, she doesn’t have the time nor patience for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a wave of her free hand, she repairs the whole lot, letting them leap up onto the shelves that she then conjures wooden doors for, just in case he gets any more bright ideas. She rather doubts Riddle, even in the throes of his temper tantrum, would be foolish enough to blow up a wall and bring all the Masters running. After all, walls only get blown up in the Potions Guild if an experiment has gone </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the kind of wrong that brings qualified experts to the scene to try and contain the damage. Harry’s not sure if the big bad politician recognises where he is, or if his mind makes the connection that the Auror office will soon have someone in their clutches that can lead him to the Construct; either way, all the anger and lust for destruction is suddenly sucked back in as if it’d never appeared in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does eye the wooden doors she’s created for a moment; Harry offers a saccharine smile and nothing else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A woman from the Lower Alleys was arrested yesterday through the use of the blood you procured on the scene. It was announced at the Wizengamot meeting yesterday, no doubt meant to offer reassurance that our Department for Magical Law Enforcement is as capable as it’s ever been.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry bites her tongue against the accusations laced into Riddle’s tone, letting her magic wrap across the length of her shoulders as it had once done years ago, when she’d been in the attic and there had been fire and she had known no one could make her do anything she didn’t want to. Only now, she can recognise the repercussions of her actions, understands that any action she takes may have consequences she doesn’t like, and she needs to think and plan, as she has always done since that day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nevermind the fact that it is a member of the Lower Alleys that has been arrested; that alone is suspicious because Harry had been certain there was pureblood training in that stance; but most suspiciously, why would anyone who calls the Lower Alleys home ever dream of attacking Maywell?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do consider my offer, Miss Potter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr Riddle. All you’ve done is make a request I am in no way obliged to respond to and offered me nothing that I want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both smile at each other. Neither one is a particularly nice smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good luck, Miss Potter. I look forward to our next run in.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It is only when Riddle has left the room, when enough time has passed for him to have left the building, that Harry allows herself to consider all that is wrong with the conversation that has just happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Number one and the most immediately pressing; the arrest of a woman from the Lower Alleys. It doesn’t make any sense. No one in the alleys would attack Maywell, not when it’s a sure-fire way to make an enemy of everyone who relies on the Clinic. It doesn’t make sense because there had been training in that stance, the kind Regulus Black, duelling prig extraordinaire, would have approved of. The blood identification potion would have taken the sample and offered the identity of the one whose blood was shed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But… that doesn’t mean the blood the attacker shed is hers; Harry knows a thing or two about faking an identity, has employed the very same trick of shedding the blood taken from the person she is imitating. Is it possible that someone out there has a grudge against the woman who has been arrested? But then, why would a Pureblood (her attacker had been a Pureblood; it fits the motive of the Death Eaters, the woman had a professional Pureblood duelling stance, and only a Pureblood outsider would attack  Maywell) have a grudge against someone from the Lower Alleys? How would they have even had the means to interact with one another? It doesn’t make sense and she needs to mention this to Leo as soon as possible for there’s every chance an innocent woman could be heading for prison now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second problem that is only slightly less pressing than the woman arrested; Riddle has given up without much of a fight. Her every interaction with him (as Rigel) had been overshadowed by some impending issue, some problem for her to deal with and Riddle has always been like a crup on a mission from its master. He chases with the same single-minded instinct as a Nundu and is just as dangerous. The whole conversation (right up until she had waylaid him with the tattoo she had seen) had felt as if he were simply humouring her, indulging the little school girl who could potentially aid his cause but was by no means necessary. Which brings up the pressing question of why he has bothered to meet with her. If he hadn’t planned on strong arming her into working for the SOW Party, then why has he gone to the efforts of highjacking her meeting with Professor Snape?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Begrudgingly, Harry acknowledges that Riddle probably suspects her to be Rigel, if only slightly. Perhaps he has organised this meeting to see if he can sense that fraction of his magic at close range? If so, his arrogance will be his downfall. If that is the case and he has now struck her from his mental list of possible suspects that could indeed be Rigel simply because he never would have expected that his magic could be removed or contained- well, Harry’s hardly going to point out that monumental flaw, is she? Not when it is to her benefit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, this doesn’t detract from the fact Riddle had turned up here, seemingly without cause, had dropped the fact a woman of the Lower Alleys had been arrested, and then left with his objective seemingly unfulfilled. He’d had no real ammunition to use against her... or perhaps, he’d seen no reason to deploy it yet? This whole thing feels like one gigantic trap but Harry cannot, for the life of her, figure out where the noose is hanging from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her final worry pertains to his parting words. Every syllable from Riddle’s mouth when he is not awash with anger is calculated. It’s said for a reason, which makes the fact he is apparently looking forward to their next meeting rather alarming. Perhaps he still suspects her of being Rigel. Perhaps he suspects she knows more about Rigel than she has led anyone to believe. That Riddle is anticipating their next run-in certifies one thing; he has reason or want to orchestrate another meeting between the two of them. Would it be too big-headed to believe he is hounding her for the talents she has displayed in potions, just as he once did Professor Snape? Perhaps. But it is one thing that cannot be ignored. Perhaps he just wishes to have her, one of the halfbloods who is already established to benefit from Dumbledore’s latest political move, firmly situated within his camp for some undefined purpose. Harry isn’t sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Riddle’s hoping Harry’ll inadvertently lure in the real Rigel.  Perhaps Riddle believes that Rigel would perceive Harry having a connection to the SOW Party as a danger to her (or to Rigel, for that matter), and maybe Riddle’s hoping her former associate cannot help but come racing to the rescue. Rigel’s track record works against him in that respect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a slow exhale, Harry presses one hand to her forehead, toying with the idea of visiting Dom within her mindscape to review all of what has just happened, or going immediately to the receptionist who should be starting work now to ask if Professor Snape is actually going to show up. Had her mentor any intention of showing up today? Has Riddle delayed him, or had Professor Snape enticed her here with the promise of a meeting under Riddle’s orders? Does it matter either way? He’s still working for Riddle, be it to protect Rigel (her) or not.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything is so stressful but she’d known it would be from the start, had known the moment she had agreed to attend Hogwarts. There is no other option for her, not unless she wishes to invite untold amounts of suspicion upon herself. It is just something she is going to have to live with, another thing to juggle and get right. Given the four years of the ruse that she has successfully completed, it isn’t wrong for Harry to assume this is well within her range of abilities. She knows what she is capable of, it is only her hubris and her opponents that can cause problems now. Opponents that would not leave her alone if she were to pull out; Riddle has made that crystal clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inhaling long and slow, Harry gets to her feet and approaches the shelves and their new doors. It takes her a moment to achieve the necessary levels of concentration but, when she waves her hand, the wood ripples and then the grain shifts and twists into the key rules for any potioneer. With the health and safety code now displayed proudly upon the new cupboard, Harry twists on her heels and makes for the reception. First thing’s first: check if Master Snape is actually going to show up. If not… well, she’s got a full potions lab at her disposal. Might as well get cracking on a few more cosmetic potions for her festival stall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Twenty minutes later finds Harry hunched over a cauldron, imbuing the hair-colour changing charm into the multitude of simple bases she’s created. The recipe isn’t hard to create, nor is it particularly difficult to have more than one cauldron of the potion on the go at any one time. She’s put a lot of thought into the ‘signifying ingredients’ that pair best with the chosen healing spells in the enhanced variable base Professor Snape developed, and she is looking forward to seeing what Professor Snape thinks of her suggestions. When she can actually get around to meeting with him, that is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the umpteenth time, Harry curses Riddle, curses that Snape had been forced to send her a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>last-minute note explaining that he’d be unable to attend due to an important matter that had been sprung on him. Oh, it’d been written in far fancier, more academic wording than that, but she will give Riddle’s schemes the exact level of contempt they deserve. Had she been stupid to expect herself to be free of Riddle now that the ruse is up and Rigel is gone? No, not really. How was she supposed to guess the politician would seek to sink his claws into her next? She was a Light aligned halfblood with no interest in Dark Pureblood politics.  But now it’s all begun spiralling and she hadn’t heard a whisper of it in advance, and  it’s already snowballed into an avalanche that can sweep her away. The whole halfbloods can go to Hogwarts had been a blatant surprise. Before, she’d heard rumours of the proposed changes from her friends with SOW party connections (Draco or Pansy or Millie or Blaise or Aldon would have let something slip) about what was being drawn up by the Wizengamot well in advance of the matter being voted on. Now, she has to find things out from her father. Harry loves him, but a dedicated, pre-emptive politician James Potter is not.  James cares very little about the internal machinations of the Wizengamot, but he does care about his daughter’s feelings.  He would not have wanted to see Harry’s hopes of attending Hogwarts dashed when Dumbledore’s proposal failed, and no-one would have expected the Malfoys to vote in support.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scowling, Harry suffocates the flames with a flick of her hand, gathering up the vials she’s pre-labelled. She distributes the potion into vials on autopilot, mind still spinning and tripping with all that she now has to accomplish today. She needs to know more about the Halfbloods-to-Hogwarts initiative, she needs to find Leo and get him to investigate the woman Riddle claims has been arrested… she needs to know what the hell Riddle is planning to do now. She’s successfully tied his hands in some aspects of discrimination on the grounds of blood status by the Wizengamot, but clearly this is not enough. Certainly not in regards to education. Which means he’s got his own plans regarding Dumbledore’s proposal and she’s all but flying blind. It’s such a shame that the captured magic she’s got in her head doesn’t give her a free pass into Riddle’s head via his magical core. That would be incredibly helpful right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Popping the final cork into the vial, Harry crosses the hair-dye potion from her to-do list, flicking through her cosmetic-line catalogue for the next one she could try her hand at while she waited for a few hours to pass. After all, she’d asked Justin to tell the King she’d be busy for the next few hours, so Leo would probably be neck deep in Rogue obligations. If the Aurors arrested the woman yesterday, she still has another day in the cell until they’ll drag her out to begin working towards a sentencing. Forty-eight hours in holding so a lawyer can be acquired and given the relevant information, though nowhere near enough time for even the best of the best to put together a suitable defence. It also had the added bonus of allowing any arrested purebloods to contact their lawyer and push dates back until they had the money or an excuse to wriggle out of a sentencing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here to turn the Guild on its head again, Potter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snapping her head up, Harry grins at the sight of a tired Master Thompson leaning against the door frame. There’s a begrudgingly fond smile on his face as he looks her over, his eyes lingering on the freshly brewed potions she’s just finished dividing among the vials.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Master Thompson. How are you today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just fine, Potter. Here to catch up with the only intern that hasn’t wasted my time in the past five years.” Well, isn’t that a compliment and a half.  What a pity he didn’t drop by a little earlier when Riddle was here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plucking up her to-do list, Harry gestures for Thompson to come and join her in the room, releasing her hold on the parchment once he has closed the door so that it may float towards him on a zephyr of magic. He collects it from the air with the same bemused expression he’d always worn at her hinted proficiency with wandless magic, reviewing the contents of the sheet with shrewd eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cosmetic potions? What happened to the girl so invested in exploring the application of battle potions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She hit her teenage years and got uncomfortably vain.” There’s a moment’s pause as Thompson gives her a dead-eyed stare and Harry very determinedly does not allow her amusement to show on her face. “I’m joking. This summer, I’m looking to make a bit of extra money selling them and exploring a branch of potions at the same time. I’ve not really reviewed cosmetic potions since I got my wand.” There’d been a six-month period back when she was nine when Harry had become relatively obsessed with cosmetic potions, predominantly because she was trying to understand the need for them. Who cared if a teenager had a spot on their forehead enough to create a potion to get rid of it? How would the ingredients react with one another to ensure the application of the potion wouldn’t sear the rest of the skin cells as it was applied to the face?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see you’ve got a handful of basic glamour potions on here,” Thompson muses, drawing Harry’s attention back to him and the discussion they’d had in this building two years ago, all about a possible alternative to Polyjuice. Given she’s got a similar thing going on with her wand right now, not that she can go into the details of that with anyone, Harry can’t exactly claim to have left the topic alone. She tells Thompson the findings of some of her investigations, explaining how she’d found that a glamour charm either needs to focus on adjusting a specific feature, such as straightening or thinning a nose, (Thompson smiles at this and Harry wonders if he’s also thinking of Master Snape’s prominent nose), and it can only take on the appearance of another person if the one imbuing the magic knows the intended face well enough. Of course, she doesn’t say a word about her glamoured wand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The freckle-removing glamour was particularly effective; when my cousin covered his face with freckles using his metamorphmagus talents, it hid every last one.” She’s never breathed a word to her cousin that he might have come into his metamorphmagus magic as a result of her over-brewing a potion (or, she hopes she’d only over-brewed the potion and that there isn’t another reason the potion had encouraged gifts to emerge in her cousin and - former - best friend). It does leave her with a slight swell of guilt in her guts whenever Archie readily uses those talents to help her test her potions, but Harry pushes it down. As Rigel, she’d already cultivated a reputation for achieving things that were impossibly difficult (if not outside the known laws of magic altogether). She refuses to allow that to spill over into Harry, discounting her shaped imbuing, for as long as she possibly can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breaking the known laws of magic was something Rigel did, not Harry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been practicing my wandless magic,” Thompson admits, rubbing at his chin as he hands her back the list. There’s a glint in his eyes that Harry recognises well. It’d been the feeling that’d bubbled in her own stomach at the thought of free-brewing, the emotion that’d surged when she created shaped imbuing and wondered just how far she could take it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just about to start on a set of eye-colour changing potions. Want another demonstration?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the fiasco with Riddle, it’s nice to sit in the potions lab and actually talk about potions. Master Thompson listens to her ideas and, while he doesn’t have the understanding of her technique that Snape does, and may not yet be able to apply it himself, he’s still a potions master. Given it’s been two years now since she exhibited her new potions method, the other seems to have repressed his instinctive urge to claim her ideas ‘can’t be done’. Instead, it seems Master Thompson has been brain-storming his own ideas. Oh, he doesn’t say it outright, but the way he pitches certain spells for her simple base to enquire if she thinks they could work…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll speak to Snape and see if he’ll agree to not monopolise all of your time next summer,” Master Thompson says, drumming his fingers along the workbench she’s just finished her latest batch of moisturising spot-relief cream on. “Now that you have a few years under your belt, we can look at some battle potions and how we could possibly incorporate your technique into them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like, a joint project?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. As you are aware, we won’t be able to publish anything as the study of battle potions is protected by the Guild, but there’s a lot of potential here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As long as Master Snape is okay with it. I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> apprentice, after all.” Thompson snorts at this, rolling his eyes and Harry’s relatively sure she hears him grumble something about being proven wrong. What, had he expected Snape to never take her on as an apprentice? She thought that Master Thompson would have realised Harry doesn’t give up; she persevered through his initial disinterest in mentoring an intern to develop her shaped imbuing theory after all (it’s what’s brought her so close to her own death as Rigel).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I suppose I don’t have to warn you about not trying any battle potions with your technique without supervision.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No sir.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry packs up when it hits mid-day. Everything goes into her potions bag, all strategically organised, ingredients separated from vials and ordered by how fresh they are. She’ll have to do a stock review at the end of the week, just to ensure the preservation charms are all holding where they should and to make sure there’s nothing lingering in there that she’s forgotten about. All the new cosmetic potions go into their own compartment, the untested ones to be explored with Archie later today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rolling her shoulders back, Harry steps out of the Potions Guild and begins making her way down the street. The weather has warmed up while she’s been hiding in the comforts of the Guild, the sun now out in force and beating down atop her head. Now that her hair is longer and back to its Potter mess, she can feel it pressing up against the back of her neck in a way that will become uncomfortable should she begin to sweat. Perhaps it’s time to either chop it short again, or grow it out enough that all of it can go up in a secure ponytail. She’s lived with it short for long enough and to have it longer would further differentiate her from Rigel; in truth, she doesn’t need to think to come to the correct answer. Growing her hair out it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huffing a sigh, Harry continues down the main drag of Diagon, scanning the crowds as she makes for Knockturn. Few people turn to stare at her as she goes past, nothing like it was as Rigel near the end, back when she had been one of the most recognisable faces in Wizarding Britain. Damn Riddle and those great big screens; it’d made going to Hogsmeade that one time between the second and third task incredibly difficult.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you said this was gonna be a challenge, Lass?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leo,” Harry breathes, feeling the tension that’d been building up in her shoulders melt as surely as ice-cream before the sun. He’s the exact same as always; tan breeches and a worn sleeveless red shirt, sturdy boots that (although not up to potioneering regulations) are sufficient for duelling, and his usual smile. It fades a bit when he catches sight of her expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry, what’s wrong? Pa said you had a meeting with Master Snape today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” Harry grumbles, falling into step with Leo as he effortlessly guides her towards the turn off for Knockturn. “Or at least I was supposed to. Up until Riddle hijacked my meeting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Riddle as in Lord Riddle of the SOW Party? That posh hoity-toity your old pal Rigel kept running afoul of? That Riddle?” The not-quite-sarcasm, not quite serious tone hangs in the air between them. To the unknowing onlooker, Leo looks the picture of ease with his head angled ever so slightly up, basking in the sunshine. Anyone else would expect them to just be two friends, hanging out and discussing some teenaged trivia. Certainly, nothing that would involve the shadowy figure that seemingly controls half of the British Wizarding World. And no, Harry doesn’t think she’s blowing things out of proportion there. Which makes it even more vital that she, as Harry Potter, remains… well, not off his radar, but certainly at the other end of it to what Rigel had been. Where Rigel had been acidic, she will have to be alkaline. Rigel had only killed the outer layer of Riddle’s grand plans, leaving ghost flesh behind but unable to penetrate deeper as a result. Harry, should the SOW Party leader think it wise to try and draw her into his damn games, will liquefy and dissolve, will seep deeper until there’s nothing left and it’s all fallen apart.  She will make Riddle regret ever pulling Harry into his machinations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a scary expression,” Leo muses, reaching out to throw his arm across her shoulders as they turn off the trunk of Knockturn to head towards the Alleys.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The blood identified a woman from the Lower Alleys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s quiet between them for a moment, Leo staring ahead of them as they continue to walk. “You don’t believe it.” A moment later, there’s an arm over Harry’s shoulders, Leo leaning into the motion but not putting any additional weight onto her. “I’ll look into the arrest,” he whispers, breath ghosting over the shell of her ear and Harry forcibly subdues the shiver that wants to wrack her spine. “No one has reported anyone missing, and I know Da was there from the moment you handed the blood over to it being given to the potions master who brewed the identification potion. I think we’re on the same lines; something isn’t right here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leo took a sharp left the moment he’d finished speaking, bringing the two of them to the mouth of Aroma Alley. As always, the number of signs were overwhelming, paper lanterns still lit despite it being midday. It was relatively busy, with small stalls set out on the street itself, each one attempting to reel in a lunchtime customer. They hadn’t been out when she had brought Caelum down here two years ago, shutting up shop somewhere around three in the afternoon in order to hand over the battleground to the main restaurants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve just had a muggleborn chappy set up shop,” Leo tells her, leaning back to allow Harry her personal space again, offering a wave to the handful of people that address him by title as they pass by. He doesn’t remove his arm from her shoulders, just loosens the hold into an easy-going contact that has Harry not quite sinking into the gesture but appreciating it all the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Hogwarts, she had so little physical contact. She couldn’t risk it with the ruse. Throughout her childhood pre-Hogwarts, Archie would always be launching himself at her for hugs or the like, and none of the adults in her life had been particularly stingy with showcasing their affection for her. So, it is nice, to have that kind of tactile relationship with people outside of her family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you get many new muggleborns setting up shop here, Leo?” It would make sense; with Riddle’s tyrannical rules, there’s very little opportunity for muggleborns in the standard Wizarding World. Down here, it’s a difficult culture altogether. Riddle has no power here; that much is obvious by the state of every Rigel wanted poster she passes, each one a little more defiled than the one before it. It wouldn’t surprise her to learn all the muggleborns who don’t want to move to a foreign country set up shop here, so to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More than we used to, according to some of our elders,” Leo admits, running his free hand through his hair before he turns them towards a little stall with the Great British flag slapped over the awning. “But their loss, our gain. Mack does the best fish ‘n’ chips I’ve ever had. Apparently, his parents own the fish ‘n’ chip place that was voted best in muggle England last year and now he’s trying to gather the funds to open a restaurant down here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I’ve ever had fish and chips together,” Harry admits, considering the smoked haddock her mother had occasionally made with baby potatoes and accompanying vegetables. She’s not too sure how the fish would go well with the muggle ‘French fries’ Sirius had brought back for Archie and herself on her cousin’s eighth birthday party, but she trusts Leo enough to try this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve not lived, Lass. Have you ever actually been to the muggle side of things?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry snorts, rolling her eyes as they both come to a stop before the stall with the Union Jack over the top. “Of course I have; my mum is muggleborn, remember? She took me and Archie there a few times when we were little.” Of course, Harry had very rapidly lost interest when she learnt there wasn’t actually any muggle equivalent to potions. Not anything she could freely experiment with at the age of six anyway. Maybe she should start looking into chemistry again, see how it relates to her favourite subject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Afternoon, Mack. One big portion of fish ‘n’ chips for me and the Lass to share.” Mack is a twenty-something man with thick, fluffy hair and an easy smile. He looks like he’d fit right into the Lower Alleys if he replaced the clearly muggle shirt. Judging by the wear it’s seen, perhaps it is his favourite top.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mack serves them a battered fish atop a miniature mountain of chips, held within a cardboard carton then wrapped in newspaper for easy travel. According to Leo, this is the true ‘fish ‘n’ chips’ experience though, at this point, Harry’s relatively certain he’s having her on. She’s ignoring how it’s somewhat satisfying to see the grease leaking into her former face, now relegated to page eleven of the Prophet instead of the headline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, when Leo leads her to a little balcony tucked away between a Chinese and a sushi place and she actually gets to try the food, Harry admits there’s something special about it. Or maybe that’s the fact she’s sitting beside one of her good friends and isn’t being bothered by the world in general.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve not been to the muggle side of things since you were a kid, huh?” Leo asks, stabbing at one of the chips with his wooden fork and popping the fried potato between his lips. He chews slowly, waiting for her answer despite the fact his eyes are constantly scanning the street below. There’s a constant buzzing in the air around them, low enough that she can’t hear it but present to her magical senses. Given how no one has looked this way, she’s going to assume it’s some kind of notice-me-not ward; Leo’s, if she had to guess. It’s old too; maybe this is where he scurries away to eat when he doesn’t want to brave the Phoenix. The thought of Leo sitting up here alone is a saddening one that is set aside for later consideration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not often. Mum’s muggle relatives don’t get on with her and I lost interest when I realised there was no potions equivalent. Chemistry was promising, but the muggles don’t let most adults buy the dangerous chemicals without some serious questions being asked, nevermind children.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should have guessed it was a potion related answer,” Leo laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand, the other working a chunk of fish off from the main bulk of it. Harry summons it to her mouth before Leo can spear it with his fork, laughing at the mock look of outrage he sends her way. “Clear some time for me next summer, Harry. I’ll take you on a little excursion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not this summer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too busy,” he mutters with a frown, plucking up another chip and whipping it dangerously close to her face before slotting it between his own lips. Leo chews, swallows, then licks his lips. “What with the festival to organise, and Scar to deal with. Nevermind those terrorists in the black robes.  And now that woman who supposedly attacked Maywell.” Leo works his jaw, the muscles in his neck jumping and Harry forcibly pulls her eyes away from the sight of him, pretending to fail at acquiring the last chip in the container before Leo. He awws mockingly, twisting his fork between his fingers before holding the end with the chip out for her. Harry’s face heats beneath her cheeks, something squirming about in her guts. She knows why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is teasing. Not the pulling-pigtails that Lily had warned her to never stand for, explaining no decent boy would ever degrade themselves enough for such a thing. But it is an easy going tease, perhaps almost a flirt, given he’s offering to feed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m full, thanks,” Harry chokes out, looking away and silently willing her magic to summon up a cool breeze to give her burning face some relief. It kisses her cheeks, effectively killing the blush before it can truly live, but it also has the damning side effect of Leo noticing her magic in action and grinning at her. Harry reaches for something, anything, to distract from the current circumstances, eyes filtering over the expanse of Aroma Alley that lies below them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leo? Why are you allowing food stalls into the festival when it’s held in the Phoenix’s Courtyard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good question, Harry. It took a bit to convince Solom, I must admit. All the food stalls have to agree to a series of rules; ten percent to the Court funds from all the money they make, and twenty percent to the Phoenix for being able to set up shop there. I had to needle Solom a bit but, given the Phoenix has more of a sit down and eat thing going on, it’s not as well suited to feeding all these hungry visitors that the festival will attract given a lot of folks will want to eat and shop at the same time. I’ve also got it set so some of those with non-food stalls that have wares leftover will have their stuff on sale in the Phoenix itself for up to a week afterwards, drawing more business in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry hums, relaxing back into the bench as Leo continues to explain his grand plans for the festival. She promises to brew up another batch or two of her own cosmetic potions for Solom to sell from the Phoenix after the festival. Until, soon enough, Leo is called away by his kingship and Harry admits she really must get going to rope Archie into testing her potions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They do make plans for next summer though. What with the uncertainty of her education beyond the next year, it’s nice to have something relatively solid in place, even if it’s only one day out in the muggle world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-0</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>[HpHpHp]</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>-0</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Is your heart completely set on Hogwarts, Harry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a warm afternoon, the previous day’s rain no longer lingering on the earth now that it has evaporated. The sunshine beats down on them mercilessly, not a single cloud brave enough to offer them any semblance of shelter. Lily has charmed the back garden to grace them with a cooling zephyr every few minutes, otherwise sitting out in the heat of the sun would be near unbearable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The four of them (herself, Archie, Lily and Addy) are all sitting on a picnic blanket by the little bubbling brook that’d been a recent installation, replacing the many, many flowers that Harry and James had ruined earlier in the week with their bootcamp training.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How her father managed to layout the rather aesthetically pleasing little stream in such little time is beyond Harry, though she doesn’t doubt there was a hefty amount of transfiguration involved. And probably Sirius too, come to think of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Addy appears to find it just as fascinating as Harry herself does, determinedly pushing to her feet and stumbling over to the ankle-deep water with that cheerful toddler babble flowing from her mouth. Only every sixth word is comprehensible to Harry, but Lily, perhaps instinctively, perhaps just with greater understanding of her youngest daughter, makes ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ in all the right places. Harry’s not quite sure what her little sister is saying, only that it’s something relevant to fishes, given how often the word ‘fishy’ is peppered into her gobbledegook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Relaxing back onto the picnic blanket, Archie unashamedly pillows his head upon her lap, firing a winning smile up at her where Harry squints down at him suspiciously. It’s unusual of her cousin to be so blatantly tactile- no, that’s not quite true. But, there is something different about Archie, as if he’s calmer, freer now that he is no longer shackled by the ruse. While they may have voluntarily agreed to the circumstances within which they have found themselves these past few years, it goes without saying it’d been more than they’d first expected, certainly more than they’d thought themselves capable of dealing with. Only, they have dealt with it, haven’t they? What more could either of them do but trudge on and continue grinding away? Now that it has all crumbled, the first layer nothing more than a fine flaky pastry that has been peeled back and away to expose the innards of their deceitful pie, everyone can accept what they saw as a disgusting truth and move on with their lives. No one is going to look too closely; they’d ensured the core of their subterfuge is as disguised as can be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, she’s feeling hungry. Thank Merlin Lily has brought little cakes outside for them to snack on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Archie pinches her leg, only lightly but enough to jolt Harry back into the current conversation with a start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve always wanted to go to Hogwarts,” she says because it’s true. She’s grown up on the stories James, Sirius and Remus told her, recounted tales of mischief and magic and there’d always been an ache in her chest at the thought of never attending herself, an ache that’d only grown when she realised she’d never get to learn under Professor Snape’s potions genius. The thrill of swapping with Archie, the strides she’d taken towards her own ambitions; she cannot explain that to her mother. Only offer a half-truth. “I can’t think of anything I wanted more when I was eleven.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quiet settles over them for a moment and Harry pinches Archie’s nose in retaliation for his previous nip, smiling when he blows out a harsh quick breath against the palm of her hand. Lily is quick to draw her attention back to the topic at hand, running her fingers through Harry’s short curls even with half her attention on the stumbling toddler by the shallow stream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As long as you’re happy and safe, Harry, you know your father and I will support you with whatever you want to do with your life. Now, tell me about these potions you want to test.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can do. Get up, Archie.” Her cousin gets up with a grumble, brushing down the imaginary creases upon his shirt before he too turns to her with waggling brows and a sly smile, one hand nudging her potions bag closer. Harry unlatches the top to begin pulling out potion after potion, all corked in unbreakable vials,each as visually different as the other. As always, she’s systematically labelled and colour coded them, though she has put a conscious effort to ensure each potion ends up in a container similar in shape to those other similar potions reside in, if only to make setting up her stall and keeping track of everything easier during the festival.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Residing in the long, thin vials are the hair related potions, everything from colour changing to permanent curls (until the antidote is used) to remedies for brittle hair and split ends. Then, there’s the facial cosmetics, all within large, circular bottles much akin to upside down handheld mirrors in shape. From spot creams to moisturiser to make-up (and in truth, Harry had been quite surprised by the sheer variety of make-up on offer to the wizarding population when she had made her enquires on the topic to Rispah). Finally, any and all body related potions reside within charmed metal tubs, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand and each one with a relatively cute label one of Alley kids had designed for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is the glitter one?” Archie asks, already digging through the offerings with a fiendish look in his eyes, one that has Harry scooping up the one version of the potion she has to hand in order to remove it from his reach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I want to slather it over Dad, of course.” Archie holds his hand out, fingers waggling in her direction with his best ‘please hand over the key component to the prank I want to unleash’ smile lighting his face. It has Harry herself smiling in return, mentally noting that she’ll have to save her cousin a small tin for his mischief later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not with this one; I need to test that it comes off after it’s been on for a while.” Theoretically, it’ll work. Both the Body-Glitter Sheen and its removal counterpart have been certified by the Potions Guild as safe, so she knows they don’t cause any physical harm to the person who has it applied to their skin. But if the cream that undoes the sticking charm she’s shaped imbued into the Body-Glitter Sheen actually works is something that is still up for debate. Oh, she’s almost certain it will, but it never hurts to test it. This in particular is more geared towards young girls, ones who are still neck-deep in their veela-princess days and wish to shimmer and sparkle all day, just like the maidens in the stories. Just like her modified weightless draft that she has every intention of selling, it’s been made with children in mind but it certainly won’t stop adults form using the potion either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry could rather picture Rispah with a glittering outline to her bright eyes, enticing more and more customers into the Phoenix to spend their hard-earned cash and add to the Court’s funds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take the glitter one,” Lily insists, holding out one pale limb until the forearm is bared to Harry, her suppressor charm bracelet shimmering in the afternoon sunshine. With a delighted laugh, Addy comes hobbling over next, throwing herself across Lily’s lap before valiantly copying their mother, arm extended and a toothy grin on her face. It’s a world away from how she used to react to Harry prior to the whole magical-sensitivity discovery, something her sister still doesn’t appear to have lost. Harry knows, she’d tested it a few days ago; Addy’d cried the moment she’d stopped projecting her aura.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess I’ll take the-” Archie plucks up one of the smaller face-potions, inspecting the label dubiously. “-the enticing potion… Explain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Its key ingredient is veela saliva; it’s got to be applied as a spray but it makes others look twice and emphasises your best feature. I haven’t been able to figure out how to make the effect last longer than a half hour though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still, that’s remarkable, Harry,” Lily declares, inspecting her arm once Harry has finished applying the glitter, twisting the limb back and forth as Addy pokes and prods at the suddenly sparkly skin. “I don’t doubt half a dozen pureblood women would be buying it by the bucket when they’re due to meet potential matches.” Harry knows; she’d had Pansy in mind when she’d come up with the concept. Only, she won’t be able to send it to her friend, not when this is a Harriet Potter invention, a Harriet Potter who no longer has contact with the Rigel Pansy had once known. Still, she’ll do her best to market the potion at Hogwarts, if only to know she has the opportunity to help her former-friend, even if Pansy doesn’t know it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In fact, I’ve mentioned your potions at work, along with the fact you’ve been put forward for the Hogwarts Half-blood inclusion scheme,” Lily admits, now looking through the vials herself in an effort to find something else to try on. “Pandora said she’ll ask her daughter to keep an eye out for you, just until you’re settled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry smiles, thanking her mother, even as guilt squirms in her stomach. Lily has no way of knowing that she’s already familiar with Hogwarts; she’s under the impression Harry has only been the one time to speak with Dumbledore regarding her ‘kidnapping’. Still, as long as Addy doesn’t turn out to be a Parselmouth herself (something Harry hopes would have been discovered already given the amount of exposure she’s had to Sirius’ snakes), then Harry will tentatively believe she’s in the clear in that regard. As long as she doesn’t end up with another younger sibling, the chances of her parents realising Parseltongue is actually a long-buried Potter trait can remain comfortably low.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The afternoon continues to pass in that fashion; Lily and Archie and even Addy (much to Lily’s mock despair) trying the variety of potions Harry has to offer. Admittedly, Addy hasn’t tried any potion that their mother hasn’t already checked on herself, which is why the both of them are currently fluttering about the garden, exploring the new stream to Addy’s heart’s content with shockingly yellow hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gotta say, I’m loving the mood-ring hair colour potion there,” Archie whispers with a grin, determinedly ignoring the fact his own eyebrows are a candy pink from where Lily had smeared the last of the potion across his face. It won’t take long to wear off, given it’s only a short-term product designed to last no more than an hour. It’d been a tricky bit of spellwork imbued into the potion that she would have had no idea how to perform, had she not completed Flint’s Seventh Year Charms work. Though it is interesting to note it overrides Archie’s own metamorphmagi talents, given he’d tried to morph his eyebrows back to normal the moment Lily wasn’t looking, only to fail. Not that this will affect anyone else other than Archie’s second cousin, the one that’d come to Sirius’ birthday party last year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most of these aren’t particularly serious cosmetic potions,” Harry admits, lifting up one of the remaining tins, unscrewing the lid to expose the eyeshadow within. Again, she’d needed help for this one, asking Sirius for the charm he’d used on the Black Family Underground Tropical Getaway. When applied, the eyeshadow reflects the colour of the sky. Admittedly, it’s restricted to the colour of the sky above London, given Harry had been in the Potions Guild when she brewed this one. Still, it’s been an interesting avenue to explore, to see how her new brewing method could be applied to a variety of potions in order to open up potential avenues and, with any luck, generate some serious interest in shaped imbuing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If anything, it might prompt more teenaged girls towards the field which, should it happen, Harry will call it a job well done. She has few plans to continue exploring this particular branch of her technique; the only reason she had is because she can hardly see Professor Snape willingly looking into such a thing. Caelum… well, it’s questionable if he’d look into it or not. For the certification that he was the one to discover a slew of different potions? Quite possibly. Yet, she gets the feeling her fellow potioneer is looking to a more practical application of shaped imbuing. Harry can’t quite fault him there, not when it was the first thing she too had looked for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s well aware that she will not uncover everything there is to know about shaped imbuing, knows it won’t happen in her lifetime, maybe not even in this millennia. After all, there are still regular potions discoveries to this very day in a craft that has been taught since before Hogwarts first opened its doors. And yet, it’s enough of a comfort to recognise she got the ball rolling that, if anyone were to ever weigh up any and every action she’s ever taken, then at least she has contributed something significant to society as a whole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re still cool. I’d have loved getting some of these for my birthday as a kid; you could probably still sell some of them— you know, if the recipe isn’t too hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re not-” Not for Harry anyway, who has a ridiculous amount of magic to shovel into her daily brewing batch of potions. “-but I don’t want to limit myself to one thing and atrophy in other areas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand that. It’s like why I’m studying more than just infectious diseases. Though, gotta say, I am looking forwards to having a bit more magic to play with now that I don’t have to hold your form during lessons.” Archie grins, swiping a hand through his hair again as it lengthens, curling ever so slightly at the ends until it frames his face remarkably well. She’d been right before; he’s going to be as great a heartbreaker as Sirius reportedly was in his youth. It’s probably a good thing he’s got blinders on for anyone other than Hermione.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to be a great healer, Archie.” It’s something Harry believes with her whole heart; even if the entirety of the ruse is uncovered, Archie won’t get more than a slap on the wrist, certainly not something that’d prevent him from becoming a world-class healer. Harry has every confidence in him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember me as the young, beautiful, talented healer I am when you lock yourself away in a lab post-graduation, Harry.” Archie flips his half-curls back from his forehead, until they tumble to one side, the tip of one tress curling around the sharp curve of his cheekbone. Beneath the summer sun, sitting in peace  with Archie as her mother wrangles Addy off to one side, it’s about as calm as Harry could have ever imagined a day post-ruse reveal being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, of course, Tom Riddle finds some way to ruin it.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The special edition of the Daily Prophet is released at five o’clock in the evening, delivered to her mother just as they are wrapping things up and heading back inside for tea. James is due home soon but, in the face of the paper that arrives, her father’s timely arrival is pushed to the back of Harry’s mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The edition is slim, as to be expected given that there’s already been a morning copy put out into circulation. If anything, this is nothing more than a bulletin update on all things Hogwarts and Halfblood, given the progressive push for changes in the law. What has Harry’s stomach sinking is that Riddle’s smarmy face is on the front page. Given his earlier ambush, well, it can’t quite be a coincidence, can it? The pages are thin between her fingertips, the ink charmed dry and Harry drops into one of the seats up to the kitchen table, Archie pulling out a chair beside her as they both begin to read.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Halfblood Talent to Return to Hogwarts!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>By special correspondent Tulip Karasu</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There was once a time when Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry opened its doors to any and all children with the ability to learn magic. Over a turbulent millennium which has seen the castle weather wars, plagues and political upheavals, the castle has remained a focal point for the population of the Wizarding World. It remains as such today.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Changes to the current legislation regarding Hogwarts intake were  passed through the Wizengamot this summer; the school is to once again admit halfbloods, though for this trial period, this will only constitute some of the brightest halfbloods of schooling age. Several names have been put forward by upstanding members of Wizarding Britain, each child eager to prove their worth and that pureblood doesn’t necessitate talent. One such name has appeared recently within the news, to much controversy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Heiress Harriet Potter, daughter of Head Auror James Potter, has already been making a name for herself among the potions community, having interned at the Potions Guild two years ago. It should come as no surprise that her name was put forward for the Hogwarts Halfblood Return by Aldermaster, Malcom Hurst. The recommendation is further given weight by Master Severus Snape, Britain’s youngest ever potions master and current professor of potions at Hogwarts.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yet, the biggest surprise comes in the form of Lord Riddle, head of the political SOW Party, who also endorses the young Potter Heiress. Speaking candidly to this reporter, Lord Riddle shared his belief that “Harriet Potter has proven herself an unexpected talent who refuses to allow the restrictions of her situation to impede  her. It is time enough that we review the current climate and the admittance of halfbloods such as Harriet Potter into the Hogwarts population, I believe, will only continue to further our world. Her inclusion to Hogwarts comes with my support and the hope that  she seizes this opportunity for what it is.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a whole lot more writing after Riddle’s admittedly short comment, brief articles on each and every halfblood who will be attending Hogwarts this year included within the pages, but Harry cannot bring herself to care about it. Not with what she’s just read.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That bastard. He’s completely ignored her firm refusal to become entangled within his plans and forged forward with whatever wicked scheme he’s come up with this time. A scheme that apparently relies upon tying her to his cause. That in itself is sickening enough, as is the knowledge that she cannot do anything about this very public endorsement. To turn her nose up at it, to state she couldn’t care less for Riddle’s support would be to make an enemy of the entire SOW Party whilst also looking exceptionally ungrateful. She’s supposed to be a pleased little halfblood, excited solely for the prospect of attending Hogwarts and to so blatantly turn her back on any perceived support she is being offered would come off poorly to any and everybody watching. And there will be people watching. It doesn’t matter that she made it clear that she won’t be Riddle’s posterchild for the ideal halfblood who is both talented and a recent product of a near dead pureblood line. Riddle has tied her to the cause regardless, the only thing she can do is strive to make as much as a name for herself as possible away from the piercing glow of Riddle’s spotlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It won’t be easy; Riddle is a household name, anyone who didn’t already know her by her potions work and the ruse reveal (even most who know her know her by the latter) will now automatically associate her with Riddle and, consequently, the SOW Party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again; bastard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m guessing this isn’t something we wanted?” Archie asks in a low whisper, still hanging by her side where he’s been reading over her shoulder. Harry shakes her head minutely, teeth digging into the tender flesh of her lower lip as she pushes down a grimace. Not ideal but, given the fallout of the partial ruse reveal, it’s a miracle a harsher light hasn’t been shone on her until now. Her every move at Hogwarts will be watched and it is now imperative that she does not allow anyone to perceive any further similarities between herself and Rigel. She needs to set aside time with Dom to review everything associated with Rigel’s character and find ways to, not make Harriet Potter fully antonymous to Rigel Black, but make a clear enough distinction between the two. If they were to be too different then it would be suspicious, but just enough similarities to be reasonable should be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to make my life harder,” Harry admits, folding the paper over and placing it within the centre of the table for James to look at when he gets in. “But I’ll manage.” With everything that’s been thrown at her, what other option has Harry got but to adapt and improvise? She’s gotten this far; she’s hardly going to let Tom bloody Riddle stop her now.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>-0</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>[HpHpHp]</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>-0</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s muscle memory; the more you practise it, the more natural it will become.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry is well aware of that, but knowing she’ll be able to attain the neat print that she’d been using on most, if not all of Harriet Potter’s correspondence schoolwork and then actually having to put the effort into learning how to form the letters in a different manner are two very different things indeed. The summer heat is muggy, rolling in through her open bedroom window to coil about the room. Treeslider, curled up on a heated rock at the base of the sill, hisses softly in  contentment and Harry spares a single moment to shoot him an envying stare. Treeslider, after all, doesn’t have to relearn how to move his muscles. He can just stew in contentment, relaxing in the  comforts of Potter Place and luxuriating in the knowledge that Addy will wait on him at the drop of a knut. Already her baby sister has fed the greedy serpent two mice and handed over her favourite headband to contribute to his new nest. Admittedly though, it had been quite touching for Treeslider to admit his nest back in the Forbidden Forest still houses that handkerchief from first year. To know that there’s some lingering evidence of Harry’s ruse still haunting the grounds. Grounds that she will be returning to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Grounds you will be returning to with newly perfected handwriting,</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ Dom grouches, simmering aggressively in her head like a particularly volatile potion, bubbling and hissing with ominous gases. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Truthfully, it’s an outrage that you have gotten by with the hand you currently write in.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ Well, that’s not particularly fair. Harry’s handwriting isn’t poor in any shape or form. It’s just, not as neat and uniform as it could be. Nonetheless, Dom will not allow her to settle for anything less than the best and, in truth, Harry rather agrees in this respect. If she’s going to do something as significant and time-consuming (as effort-consuming) as giving her handwriting a complete and utter overall, she might as well do it in totality. Which means correcting the slight flick to her ‘h’s, the too big of a dip to her descenders, and the scruffy half-curve her ‘e’s always take on when joined up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“While there are many things that would have impacted upon my chances as a potioneer in the future, my handwriting isn’t one of them.”</span>
</p><p><span>‘</span><em><span>Good handwriting is impressive; clear lines and marks stand the test of time. One only needs to look to the hieroglyphics</span></em> <em><span>to know that for fact.</span></em><span>’</span></p><p>
  <span>“And potion recipes used by thousands of people will last just as long,” Harry counters, writing ‘chimera’ for the sixteenth time. The joining of the ‘m’ to the ‘e’ is slowly but surely becoming smoother, for all that it is taking a great deal of concentration. For the first few weeks, it is entirely possible that her essays will be uncomfortably slow to write and she will have to do it in front of others, just to ensure that they are aware this is her handwriting. The slow movement of her hands will probably have to be concealed by a claim she’s thinking over how to word her work instead of having to focus on the actual writing she is placing upon the parchment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s about presenting yourself accordingly,</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ Dom sniffs, his presence heavy in the front of her mind, a sensation almost as if he’s brushing up against her skull and Harry pushes him back with a little help from her magic. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why you do not strive for acknowledgement beyond your little potions niche is beyond me. You could rival your foe in more ways than one.</span>
  </em>
  <span>´</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to rival him. I just want him to stop making my life more difficult.” Even as she says it though, Harry knows that isn’t true. Maybe in first year, she could have agreed to such a time. Maybe in first year before the weight of what Riddle was doing came to rest heavier and heavier on her shoulders. She’s not Atlas and yet, it seems only she is willing to deal with the earth Riddle keeps piling on the  rest of them in an attempt to dig the purebloods out of their own grave. They’re burying themselves and she honestly doesn’t know why he cares. If Riddle’s a halfblood, why does it matter to him what happens to the old families? Why has he been pushing muggleborns and halfbloods (halfbloods like himself!) to the edges of the wizarding world? Why has he taken up this cause?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regardless of his reasons (of which she is sure are as plentiful as they are twisted), it doesn’t mean Harry won’t stand against it. How she is going to do that when Riddle has publicly given her his backing in regards to her ‘first venture’ to Hogwarts, she’s not sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Use the magic he has so foolishly given you to your advantage,</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ Dom whispers, a snake with an apple, coiling around a tree branch and whispering into her ear, soft and silken. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>With your magic and my mastery of the mental arts, it would not be long before we can find a way to use it to our advantage.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Riddle associates that sliver of magic with Rigel,” Harry reminds him, scowling at her incorrectly formed ‘a’ before rapidly crossing it out. “I can’t risk trying to use that connection to get into his magic, or his mind, without risking my own ruse.” Nevermind the fact she’s hesitant to try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of everyone she has come up against, Riddle’s magic is the worst. Oh, she doesn’t doubt the force of Dumbledore’s own magic would be just as potent, just as overpowering, but the Headmaster of Hogwarts has always gone out of his way to offer a comforting presence, to project a trusting aura that almost makes you forget that he performs spells as easily as he breathes. Riddle, on the other hand, is a natural disaster wrapped in human skin and with just as much disdain for those who try to stand against him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>And when he makes his next move against you?</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll worry about that potion when I need to stir it,” Harry grumbles, dropping her quill as the floo roars somewhere downstairs. A quick wave of her hand vanishes the latest handwriting practise sheet, leaving her desk clear of anything that isn’t her potions notes. Even those will soon have to transform to conform with her new handwriting style. They will be easier on the eyes to read, that much is true. Maybe that will be enough to help the Unspeakables who are still struggling with her methods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking her head, Harry makes for the door to her room, stepping out into the hall and making for the stairs. The portrait of her great-grandfather, Henry Potter, offers her a cheeky wink and nod of his head. A new addition by her father (either to watch for her own coming and goings or to keep an eye on Addy who has taken to wandering the halls in the middle of the night now), the portrait is always happy to sit down and discuss his time on Wizengamot with her. His general disgust at the way she is treated for daring to be a halfblood warms her soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry? You’ve not melted into the basement, have you?” It’s Archie. A smile crawls up the edges of Harry’s lips as she quickens her steps, descending the stairs as swiftly as she dares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was practising my handwriting, actually,” Harry declares, stepping around the door to the living room to find Archie brushing imaginary soot from his summer robes, each casual flick of his hands effortlessly elegant. Though Regulus Black is most upset that the feats of Rigel Black can no longer be attributed to the actual heir of his house, Archie’s uncle won’t be able to deny that said heir has an elegance and class to him that the pureblood pretender never naturally showcased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Covering another potential problem,” Archie concludes with a nod, rolling his shoulders back and offering her an easy smile. Again; all the appeal of Sirius and the shining personality that is all Archie; he’s going to have all the girls falling over him at AIM now that he can truly be himself. They’ll realise just how lucky Hermione Granger is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The sooner I get a new style memorised, the sooner I can get back to brewing in my free time,” Harry agrees, plucking a handful of floo powered from the container. She adjusts the glasses that reside upon the bridge of her nose, rolling her eyes at Archie’s delighted laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not nervous about returning to Hogwarts at all? Just worried about the lack of brewing? Only you, cuz.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry smiles, igniting the flames of the fireplace again with a wave of her hand. She doesn’t say that, yes, she is actually nervous about  returning to Hogwarts. Not for the reason that Archie probably assumes to be her key worry though. She managed four years of keeping the ruse under wraps. Hiding another secret from the entirety of the student body won’t be difficult, just par the course now. No, her problem will be seeing everyone again and knowing they are, at best, going to treat her like a stranger. At worst, they will be antagonistic and Harry cannot blame them for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides, aren’t you literally going to brew potions at the Guild now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only a handful. Most of them are already done and I’m just talking through the theory with Master Snape and Aldermaster Hurst to check the recipes are actually feasible for others to create.” Given that the current potion masters who are capable of shaped imbuing are herself (who has not just enough on her plate but an overflowing helping), Master Snape (already a teacher and an in-demand master of his craft) and Caelum Lestrange (no further explanation necessary), it can be concluded that it will be a while before anyone else can be taught to replicate her technique.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she should speak to Master Snape about potentially teaching the Seventh Years shaped imbuing after their NEWTS, in that window of space where they have no curriculum but are not yet free of their schooling obligation? If anything, she’s sure the Weasley twins would manage to replicate her method, driven solely by their intention to use it for mischief. She’s almost looking forward to seeing the results.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know why,” Archie cuts in, throwing his handful of floo powder into the grate, “but I feel like I should be worried right now. And no, I don’t want to know what is going on in your head right now. Ignorance is bliss for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They both step out of the floo at the Leaky to the bustle of a school-shopping crowd. Harry breathes deep, inhaling the scent of Tom’s meat pie, the perfume of the woman that has just bustled past, the sharp zing of a Beautification Potion; someone must be both on a date and nervous. That is going to end poorly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Harry. We’ve got places to be!” Archie grabs hold of her hand, reeling her through the crowds and out into the courtyard that opens up onto Diagon. She tries to picture the brick wall her mother told her existed when she was completing her first wizarding shop, but Harry fails to imagine it. For as long as she’s known, the entryway to the beating heart of the magical world has always been wide open and welcoming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hustle of people part when Archie strides forwards, his steps full of purpose and his form already taller than most witches. It’ll be very entertaining if he exceeds Sirius’ own height. His head swivels back and forth, as if on a pivot, and Harry quickens her steps to match him, striding to keep by his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we looking for anyone in particular?” Harry asks, a sly tease to her tone as she mentally stretches out her magic, scanning the crowd until she locks onto a familiar earthy flavour of Hermione Granger’s magic. “On your left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Archie looks left just in time for Hermione to slip up to him on his right, giving him a delicate pinch to the side that makes him jump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mione!” And just like that, the vice-like grip on Harry’s wrist is  gone; Archie abandoning her in favour of gathering Hermione into his arms. Her cheeks are flushing a light pink, frizzy hair expanding ever so slightly in line with her embarrassment and Harry doesn’t even try to smother  the smile that breaks out across her face. They both look happy. She’d known, of course, that things were good between them during her last visit. But this looks a lot closer to something that certainly isn’t friendship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll leave you two to it,” Harry says, stepping back and away when both of their heads snap up to look at her. At least they hadn’t been lost in each other’s eyes. She’s already starting to feel like a third wheel and she hasn’t even been in their shared presence for more than a minute. “I’ve got places to be.” Offering them a quick wave, Harry turns and makes for the Potions Guild, swallowing against the lump in her throat until it’s no longer there. Archie and Hermione’s friendship has stood against everything thrown at them so far, against the potential deal-breaker of the ruse falling apart; she doesn’t doubt they’ll make it in spite of Riddle’s stupid laws. Now, she just needs to make sure they have as good a chance as she can give them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master Grindel is hustling out of the Potions Guild when Harry gets there, his arms weighed down with more bags than he probably should be carrying. Given there’s a limit to the undetectable extension charm, she can only begin to imagine just how much he has stuffed inside of those bags. Maybe stocking up his own lab in the Auror department? Harry isn’t too sure where exactly that is (James had always barred her from venturing in and disturbing the potions master while he was at work during the handful of times Harry had been allowed to visit the department) but she does know the Auror department’s potions master rarely brews within the confines of the Guild.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ducking in through the door, Harry fires a quick smile at  the receptionist, making for room twenty-three, where Professor Snape should be waiting for her. Something heavy worms about in her guts at the thought, if only because the last time she’d assumed Professor Snape was waiting for her, well, it hadn’t been Snape at all, had it? Only, Riddle would surely know that, if she were to see him inside the building again, she would walk right back out. At this point, following on from his blatant disregard for her wishes (in truth, what had she been expecting given his track record?) she wouldn’t be surprised to find Riddle  there again. However, when Harry approaches the open door, she finds only Professor Snape waiting  within.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Master Snape,” Harry greets calmly, stepping inside and closing the door quietly behind her. True, they haven’t spoken to one another in person since she came to start the modified Polyjuice off for him to complete under her instructions. Given she’d not had a response in regards to that potion, Harry assumes all went well and the instructions for her Modified Polyjuice have now been buried in the depths of the Guild, alongside a variety of other politically dangerous potions of varying legality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Potter. Do you have this field medic kit with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Harry peels back the lid of her new potions bag, the motion having steadily become more familiar as the summer has worn on. Then, she retrieves the variety of vials, along with the little diary of notes she’s taken to keeping her ideas in if only to have something physical to present to anyone who asks after her thought processes. While it’s not uncommon for teenagers to have some skill in occlumency, she hardly wishes to bring to light the sheer ability she has in regard to that particular talent. After all, occlumency is often connected to those who wish to keep secrets. Knowing so much given her public history is all well and good, but being proficient enough at the mind-art to be able to organise her memories to the point she rarely has to write anything down? That would probably set off a few alarm bells.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve also got a few ideas; Archie and I have been looking into healing rituals and the concept of imbuing the ritual into a basic potion base for emergencies.” She’s done all the calculations; theoretically, it should be possible. The ritual is what leads the magic into the correct formation, the only difference is they’ll be applying it to a potion instead of a witch or wizard. As long as the potion itself has a viable base, it should work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the look on Professor Snape’s face, she can see that he’s now thinking much the same thing; she can’t quite decide if he’s annoyed by the fact she’s come to their meeting with more ideas, or if he’s irate he didn’t think of the idea first. Harry wonders if this will ease Madam Pomphrey’s burden as the only Mediwitch working in Hogwarts’ Hospital Wing and she carefully sets that idea aside. There’re probably multiple applications for her latest idea, that’s for sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that all?” Professor Snape drawls with a tone that suggests she is, as always, already thinking far too ahead of herself. He lifts one of her potions to the light with pursed lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve given some of the simpler potions I’ve been working on to Aldermaster Hurst to verify as I’ve got a place to sell them soon, but I wanted to get your opinion on these ones,” Harry admits, plucking out some of the… riskier brews she had come up with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes Professor Snape exactly thirty seconds to deduce what the first one is for, based upon the consistency, the colour, and the feel of the magic. He doesn’t even need to look at the recipe, he only needs to glance at the label to confirm his suspicions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is to heal nerve damage.” Goes unsaid is that it is to heal damage caused by the Cruciatus Curse. The lingering after  effects are still sizzling in the depth of her memories, locked away somewhere by Dom in the same location he keeps the rest of her memories that relate to the Triwizard Tournament’s final task. The less said about Owens, about Crouch Junior, Lee Jordan and the Construct, the better. Is it perhaps a weakness, keeping the emotions from that situation away from the rest of her psyche? Harry isn’t too sure. She doesn’t want to go poking and prodding the thoughts at the moment though; that’s too much to deal with when the perpetrators haven’t been caught yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it won’t be used as often as some of the other potions I devised,” Harry admits, forcibly calling her hand up to consciously ruffle her own hair in a manner similar to her father’s nervous tick. It’s not a natural movement for her, but it’s also something Rigel never did. Ergo, any similarities between Harriet Potter and James Potter she can present will only make it that much clearer to Professor Snape (the man who has spent the most time with Rigel Black outside of his best friends) that there are concrete differences between Rigel and Harry. It’s exactly what she’s aiming for, but it makes something in her stomach squirm with discomfort anyway. “But I think it will be invaluable for those it can help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Professor Snape sniffs delicately, holding the potion up to the light and swirling the vial. “We will see.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The time passes quietly as they discuss  the variety of potions she brought along with her, in addition to expanding on the progress she’s made with her bottled blood ward. Much to Harry’s disgruntlement, Professor Snape had instantly vetoed that as a name, despite her proclamation that the name very clearly explained just what the potion was capable of. Why everyone insists she should be slapping her name on any and every potion she invents, Harry cannot comprehend. She’s already made enough of them now that trying to memorise them all if they had her name in the label would confuse most seventh years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Following on from that, she puts forward her idea for a potion designed to restart the heart; a localised muscle relaxant imbued with a mild shocking charm that could be smeared upon a person’s chest following their collapse. That, at least, seems to mollify Professor Snape from having to deal with her inability to give a potion an acceptable name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is only as they are both brewing the enhanced variable base with a few droplets of phoenix tears that Professor Snape has brought along with him (to be imbued with healing magic in an attempt to improve upon the nerve healing agent she has already been exploring) that her favourite potioneer opens with a topic unrelated to potions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Professor Dumbledore shared the list of halfbloods who are to attend Hogwarts this year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aldermaster Hurst put my name forward,” Harry notes  with ease, completing her seventh clockwise stir as she reaches for the trimmed unicorn hair, magic already beginning to shape itself within the depths of her core. “I hadn’t a choice but to accept once I heard. My only other option is going to AIM with Archie and, to be quite honest sir, the potions track is abysmal stateside. I don’t want to appear arrogant, but I think I’ve made more progress learning my way than I would have done through enrolling in the AIM potions track over there.” After all, Harry had been learning under Professor Snape himself, even if the man himself thought it only second hand learning. She’d learnt more in that first year of Hogwarts than she had in any year at home. And, while it may appear big-headed from Snape’s point of view if she’s proclaiming she’s learnt more from a combination of home-schooling and correspondence courses, well, results speak for themselves, don’t they?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I have every expectation you shall continue to excel when you arrive at Hogwarts,” Snape bites out, angling his stirring rod as his magic flexes. It still takes her professor more effort to imbue than it does Harry herself but, she’s coming to accept there’s something extraordinary about her magic. Years ago, she’d never have wanted to admit that aloud. Now, after all that it has done for her? She cannot imagine life without it. “However, Miss Potter, I hope you are well aware of just what reception shall await your arrival.” Reception? It takes Harry a moment, one in which she removes her stirring rod from the gentle peach of her potion, mind whirling. Then the implications hit home. Of course. The vast majority of Hogwarts’ student population will be purebloods who will no doubt look down upon her due to her status as a halfblood. She doesn’t doubt the atmosphere from most will be unfriendly to the halfbloods who are brave enough to venture to the castle this year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, she’s not a normal halfblood, is she? No one in the castle can ever know that she is Rigel Black. Consequently, they will only associate her as the halfblood involved in one of the most famous crimes (no matter how ‘little’ a punishment she’s received in the eyes of the law in thanks to Riddle’s marriage law) to have rocked the British wizarding world. The halfblood they have access to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I be worried for my continued good health?” Harry asks and she’s only half joking in truth. She has lived four years as a Slytherin, the seat of pureblood mania according to some and, while mania is perhaps not the best description, there is a certain stigma to being anything other than pure down in the dungeons. Halfbloods are looked upon as less; Harry can well recall how her year mates had reacted to the truth about Daphne Greengrass. Theo in particular stands out, with his abhorrence that there has been a halfblood among them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would be prudent to prepare yourself for a less than warm welcome,” Professor Snape states firmly, not a hint of emotion in his voice as he too seals up his vials, testing the consistency  of the potion with a quick swirl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m only going to Hogwarts to learn,” Harry says slowly, vanishing the useless residue that remains  at the base of the cauldron, taking care to wipe down the sides as soon as it is cool enough to do so, “and to prove that I am just as good as they are at magic. Except for potions. I’m better than them.” It’s not bragging; it’s a cold, hard fact and Snapes knows it too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just because you are an apprentice, do not expect me to favour you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to be favoured. I want to be treated as my abilities and motivation dictate I should be treated. I won’t waste this opportunity, Professor Snape.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a moment where her mentor looks upon her and Harry tries not to squirm with the acknowledgement he has offered her with the title of ‘apprentice’. Though Rigel may be gone, she has not been thrown to the wayside for her  association with him. This is the carbonised proof that she has showcased enough of her talents for Professor Snape to take her seriously as a potioneer; he still considers her worthy of that particular title, even with the stigma of the Rigel Black situation attached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You cannot contact Rigel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No Master Snape.” She runs her fingers through her hair once again, dislodging the hair pin she’d secured her bangs with prior to brewing. The handful of locks flutter down, framing the sharp curve of a cheekbone that belongs to a face a year older than it should be, unintentionally emphasising the difference between her features and Rigel’s. “Riddle already asked me that.” Well, not in so many words, but the motivation for his visit was no doubt centred around unearthing the secrets of his almost-protégé. In addition to bullying  her into becoming the new face to push his pureblood saving agenda.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instantly, the tension between them rockets and, in truth, Harry doesn’t feel the least bit bad for it. She has a great deal of respect for Professor Snape, both as a professional and as a person. However, he had willingly allowed Riddle to trap her into a conversation she had no desire to partake in. Oh, she doesn’t doubt the SOW Party leader had exercised some form of blackmail or threat upon the man in order to do so, but the point still stands. As a result of her victory at the Triwizard Tournament, Snape is no longer bound to the SOW Party and yet, he persists in remaining there. Harry cannot give him a sign that Rigel is fine without potentially incriminating herself, and Snape will not leave while he remains under the impression that his proximity to Tom Riddle will give him some way of aiding his wayward apprentice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is a catch twenty-two and she can do nothing but trudge on under the circumstances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Riddle is not a wise enemy to make,” Snape cautions, utterly unaware of just how many times he has already attempted to beat this lesson into her head and totally failed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything I am makes me his enemy, given the political stance he has chosen,” Harry gripes, beginning to order her things before she starts packing them away. “I will no sooner  present myself as aligning with his views as I will give up potions. I never agreed to present myself as allied with the SOW Party and its ideals and I have no intention of breaking just because he is applying pressure in the form of the press.” She has dealt with the reporters as Rigel; she’d had no choice given all that has been thrown at her for the duration of her education at Hogwarts so far. In truth, it will be more of the same; Harry will just have to handle it in a way that makes the differences between Rigel Black and Harriet Potter a little clearer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think clearly about your actions, Miss Potter. Saying you will stand against Lord Riddle is one thing when you have not yet faced the extent of his reach.” A bitter laugh clambers up from her innards but Harry chokes it down before it can get any further, before it can escape through her clenched teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am well warned, Master Snape. Rigel ensured that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They say their goodbyes and part ways not long after that ominous conversation, leaving Harry to meander her way down to the Aldermaster’s office with something that almost tastes a little like regret on her tongue. It is difficult, lying to Professor Snape. Pretending she doesn’t know more than she does, that she isn’t aware of the fact he’d once condemned himself to a lifetime working with Riddle in order to ensure his childhood friend could retain a job. To continually  bring up something that only Rigel has been told would raise too large of a red flag, spellfire in the night and… Harry cannot say if Snape would not present her as the pureblood pretender or not. Despite the fact the law protects her from certain death or even a sentence in Azkaban now by Riddle’s own doing… That’s not the only thing that would be at stake now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the Halfblood initiative now underway, the first tentative step to undoing the pureblood elitism that now writhes like a beast in the underbelly of Hogwarts is for Harry to demonstrate that halfbloods are just the same as purebloods.  Now that Harry has a chance to open the eyes of her friends to who she really is (to prove she’s not that different to them even if they can never, ever find out that she was the one to betray their trust)… she cannot just allow herself the chance to chase her own dreams alone. The future of so many halfbloods lays spread before her and Harry cannot bring herself to tread across that thin ice without caution.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Addy’s future is one of the many that lies before her and the thought of her little sister being able to attend Hogwarts someday, undisguised and unscorned, is too much to pass up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knocking on the open oak door, Harry smiles as Master Hurst lifts his head from whatever he’s signing off on. A matching grin quickly spreads across the man’s lips as he abandons whatever paperwork he’s been focused on, getting up and coming around his desk to greet her with an extended hand. Bemused, Harry takes it and gives it two firm pumps, fingers flexing when Master Hurst releases his grip upon her palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry, a pleasure as always. I was just talking to Eleni through the floo and she said that cousin of yours has been offering his summer up for work at the Clinic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Archie’s always wanted to be a healer, so I’m not surprised he’d jumped at the chance to get some more hands-on experience while school’s out,” Harry agrees easily, following after Master Hurst as he directs her to his desk. Ignoring the piles of paperwork, she’s quick to spot the rack of vials, all of which contain potions imbued with her magical signature. The first aid kit she’d offered the Aldermaster on her last visit then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A splendid boy, your cousin,” Master Hurst states, retaking his seat. “I would love a chance to speak to your parents and find out just what they have done that I didn’t with Leo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leo’s fantastic,” Harry blurts out, feeling her cheeks heat at the suddenness of her comment. Just because Master Hurst is not completely aware of exactly what Leo is doing with his life doesn’t mean he should feel like he’s failed as a parent. Still, the surprise in the other potioneer’s eyes is enough for Harry to cast around for some kind of clause she can use to support her sentence. “He’s an exceptional friend who has helped me more than I can possibly repay. If you hadn’t raised him as you have, I wouldn’t have had that support.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I suppose living in the Lower Alleys would have been quite the challenge, even with that rascal helping you,” Master Hurst agrees and Harry bites down on the fat of her tongue, molars digging into the muscle in order to still any kind of stupidity that wants to leave her mouth without her consent. Leo is, after all, helping to keep her secrets. She can do the same for him. Finally, something suitable flashes into her mind. “If I hadn’t met Leo, neither Hermione or Archie would have ever known about Maywell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you may not have been there to save Eleni and me that night,” the Aldermaster agrees before he forcibly shakes his head, smiling all the while. “Nevermind. I assume you are here to find out the conclusions on your first aid kit? Let’s get to it, shall we?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-0</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>[HpHpHp]</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>-0</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Run that by me again, Harry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tilting her head back to meet her father’s face, Harry offers him her best ‘innocent unicorn’ face, all big eyes and sweet smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve invited Caelum over so we can do some brewing in the lab. Don’t worry, mum and Addy will both be home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James whimpers, one hand clutching at the breast of his Auror robes and, for a half a second, Harry thinks he will genuinely call in sick in order to remain at home. Luckily enough, her father’s sense of duty to the public outweighs his baseless suspicions of Caelum Lestrange. It’s a close call though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flexing her fingers around the handle of her disguised wand, Harry cocks her head back a little more to pitch one of Rispah’s looks of innocence  right at her father, balancing the slight twinge of guilt against the heavy onset of amusement that comes whenever she plays on his fear of boys. In truth, she’s not too sure why he’s worried at all; for all that Caelum has made significant progress in socialising with her, there’s no way their admittedly short encounters will be enough to outweigh a lifetime of pureblood propaganda to the point he would willing admit to having a romantic interest in her. The idea itself is laughable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, a working relationship over potions? Yes, that is something they’re very much capable of. If Caelum can admit that Professor Snape is a good potioneer, that he’s one of the best of their generation, then he can swallow his pride enough to work alongside her. The fact that she has been to Dartmoor to brew says more than enough on that front.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haven’t you got someone else who can brew with you?” James pleas, running a hand through his hair and proving just how ingrained that gesture is to his psyche. “Anyone else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, there’s always Leo-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you have any female friends who brew?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry fires another beaming grin up her dad, hands tucked neatly behind her back as  she swaps her wand between her palms, the wood an odd sensation when grasped between her left fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, if you can find me any girls that take brewing as seriously as I do, then I’ll happily spend time with them.” Unlike her father, Harry is well aware of the potions cohort in her own demographic; the chances of James being able to find another girl who enjoys potions as much as Harry herself is slim to none. It’s not completely out of the question, but the chances are so low Harry herself hasn’t bothered looking around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Drawing himself up now that he has some kind of goal to achieve, James reaches out to plant the flat of one palm on the curve of her shoulder. “I know you can handle yourself, Harry. And I know that- that there is a slim chance Lestrange isn’t as bad as-” he cuts off awkwardly, grimacing and looking away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As bad as his parents?” Harry happily chips in. While Harriet Potter may never have met Bellatrix Lestrange in order to form an opinion, she has Sirius’ ramblings on the woman and, not that her father is aware, Rigel’s own interactions with the woman, brief and stilted as they were, and Caelum’s reaction to the possibility of his parents finding her at Dartmoor Castle. More than enough for her to know the Lady Lestrange would rather peel Harry’s skin from her forearms than ever allow her to brew in Dartmoor Castle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that. Call for your mum if you need ought, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will do, Dad. Have a nice day at work.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes twenty minutes after James Potter left  by floo for Caelum Lestrange to replace him in a whirl of emerald flames and twisting ash. The latter lay still in the grate as he strides out, not a hair out of place and not a piece of shattered porcelain in his hair, much unlike last time. Harry’s sitting on her favourite armchair and watches him take a look around Potter Place’s receiving room with a decisive sniff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon, Caelum. How are you today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Potter,” Caelum snaps in return, a light flush dusting his cheekbones that Harry is sure has absolutely nothing to do with the fact he’d leapt half a foot in the air at the sound of her voice. “Your manners are abysmal. Don’t you know you’re supposed to stand before the fire in order to greet your guests?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you know it’s rude to keep your host waiting for over ten minutes?” Admittedly, he is only just over ten minutes late, but the point stands. Not that Harry is particularly bothered, curled up with the latest edition of Potions Quarterly to peruse. It’s her third re-read and, though Professor Snape has not contributed anything to any of the findings within the pages, Master Thompson has. It’s nice to see he’s taken on her advice regarding building his background as a potioneer who is most certainly not studying battle potions why would anybody on earth think that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even more exciting is the very real possibility that she may be asked to write her own short article for the next periodical according to Master  Hurst. Harry’s trying not to get her hopes up though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please. It’s called being fashionably late.” Caelum tips his head back ever so slightly, nose angled to the sky and gesturing to his face as if to voice the unspoken </span>
  <em>
    <span>how could you ever be angry with this beautiful thing? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Besides brat, you are hardly one to speak on etiquette. Now let’s get on with the only reason that I tolerate your presence.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They meander down to the potions lab, Caelum still wearing his self-importance like a particularly fine cloak and Harry wonders which fact she’ll use to cut a hole in it; the fact she’s going to be spending the last few years of her education formally learning under Professor Snape as  an apprentice, that the man has indeed addressed her apprenticeship as if it were to still go ahead, or the fact that Aldermaster Hurst has implied she will be expected to write something for Potions Quarterly based upon her new first aid kit of potions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is only as Caelum steps out onto the floor at the end of the stairs that Harry recalls one of the key changes that has come about because of their association. Her companion pauses, rocking ever so slightly back onto the heels of his feet before he cocks his head over his shoulder and fires the smuggest look at her she’s ever had the displeasure of seeing in her potions lab. He doesn’t even need to say anything about it but, as it’s Caelum Lestrange, naturally he does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spring-based floor, halfblood? It’s nice to see you are learning something of worth from your betters. This way, your back won’t be hunched over enough to prevent you from looking to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, it didn’t take me long to figure out the spellwork necessary to achieve the effect.” Admittedly, she had been forced to review some on the notes she’d taken during her tenure as Flint’s essay producer, but she had managed it. From the suspicious look Caelum launches her way, he doesn’t believe her to have been capable of such advanced spellwork in the slightest, but it appears for once he’s not going to-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t lie to impress me, Potter. This is NEWT level spellwork.” She spoke too soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean it’s supposed to be hard?” Harry quips back, placing one of her largest cauldrons (regulation thickness and perfectly cleaned) atop the table before turning to face Lestrange. He’s already shed his outer robes (why in Merlin’s name he’s wearing any in the height of summer, she doesn’t have a clue; it’s probably for some asinine reason, like it brings out a specific shade of blue in his eyes or something) and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to expose his forearms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no need to try and make yourself seem more capable, Potter. I only care for your admittedly not-inconsiderable talent for potions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So glad we’re on the same page, Caelum.” His nostrils flare ever so slightly at the continual way she insists on addressing him by his given name but he actually lets it drop for once, instead, pulling a small stack of notes from the bag he’d appeared with. More than a third of these sheets get set aside, the final six spread out on the table before them. There’s a diagram of what looks to be a double layered potion, with notes set around the outside of the cross section in Caelum’s admittedly neat scrawl. As Harry reads through the quick jottings, her eyebrows steadily continue to rise until they are residing somewhere in the mess of the fringe she has yet to pin back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to create some kind of transport potion?” It’s admittedly genius, if they can get it to work that is. The idea of taking the Portus spell and applying it to a potion so that a wizard can portkey to a location the moment they consume the brew is inspired; there’d be no worry of being unable to find the portkey, nor an issue with timings either. But the thing that strikes Harry about the potion is the fact Caelum has begun to construct a potion that could be crafted with a secondary layer. The implication that, just maybe, they could combine two spells via imbuing into the potion. “This is genius.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, it is,” Caelum sniffs, trying and failing to not appear smug over her genuine appreciation for the idea, “I came up with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you thinking in regards to the secondary layer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why I needed to consult you, brat. This is your wild, halfblood idea so, if anyone will have some form of understanding on how to go about successfully applying two different spells to a potion, it will be you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clicking her tongue, Harry inspects the overview Caelum has presented her with a second time. “It’ll require careful application; obviously we’re going to have to adjust the variable base so that the upper layer will sit comfortably above the other until it’s time for them to join after the imbuing process. And that’s if they’ll even join together without causing an explosion… This will be as close to free-brewing as I’ve ever come with shaped imbuing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a moment of silence between them before Caelum begrudgingly answers her unspoken question. “I’ve only just begun to learn free-brewing under Master Whitaker. It’s a very precise and precarious art-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m well aware. I’ll handle that aspect of the potions then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no way a brat like you knows how to free-brew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask the Aldermaster if you’re so bothered, Caelum. I’m sure he’ll be happy to clear everything up for you.” A sweet smile and there’s blessed silence as Caelum turns her words over in his head, no doubt looking for some kind of trap to her words, some way of making him appear stupid to one of the most powerful members of the potions community.  He won’t; Caelum isn’t aware that, for all that Mr Hurst will claim to have taught her he actually hasn’t, but if the Aldermaster confirms with Caelum that he has taught her free-brewing, he’ll no doubt feel like she’s tricked him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caelum settles for a glare and Harry guesses that about sums up their usual pre-potion making interactions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not whisking you to a healer when you blow yourself up, Potter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s alright, Archie is scheduled to drop by for tea anyway.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once they begin working on the basic recipe in order to see if Portus can be replicated with a potion, they turn their focus from sniping at one another to considering what other spell could be included in the secondary layer in order to alter the potion’s effects. Caelum puts forward the idea of some kind of strengthened spell in order to increase the reach of the potion, but Harry is quick to argue that could be adjusted by simply adding more magical power to the actual Portus spell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next thing they consider is some kind of stomach soother as the secondary layer in order to reduce the common nausea more than seventy percent of the population experience when using a portkey. It would be a good way to market the potion; young children and those with a particularly poor disposition to travel could benefit from it, even more so if they could stabilise the portkey enough so that pregnant women could use it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The idea comes the moment Harry considers the times she has had need to escape from somewhere via apparition but has been unable to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about a ward breaker?” Harry asks slowly, watching Caelum finish up imbuing the magic into the potion as she puts forward the idea. It makes the most sense; at the Quidditch World Cup, she’d have given anything for a potion capable of ripping through the wards and carrying her away at the same time. All wards cannot be built around the idea of keeping people from leaving in a set way; they have to be tailored to anti-apparition, anti-portkey. It’s why pillocks like Regulus Black can make so much money from  a single ward scheme. But if she and Caelum could invent an emergency potion that would carry the drinker through wards back to their home-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s possible, every wizard in the world would want one.” It goes unsaid that, in the current climate with numerous attacks by the wizards in black who call themselves Death Eaters, many in Britain would pay through the nose for that kind of security. To know you are not going to be trapped by wards… Harry herself would pay a very handsome amount to that know she could escape from a set of confining wards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let’s see if it is possible.” They can make the first one now, Harry can apparate away to the Phoenix and attempt to test it to see if it can get through the anti-portkey wards there. It’s the first place that comes to mind, barring Hogwarts that is, with wards strong enough that Harry herself cannot apparate from inside the building. If they can develop a potion that can power through that-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can imbue a lightning jaw into the secondary layer if you get the Portus into the first layer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A brat like you could hardly be expected to supply the Portus charm,” Caelum agrees easily, already rolling his sleeves up that little bit more until they rest above his elbows now, exposing entirety of his pale forearms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could shape the magic for apparition, but that doesn’t come with a set destination other than what is in the users mind so I’m not sure how that would equate.” Admittedly, if they can create a potion that could be substituted as apparition for those who have not acquired a license, it’s another thing they have the potential to make a killing off of. The money they could make from either of these potions if they work could easily fund further research into the area. Given it is just herself, Lestrange and Professor Snape who can brew shaped imbued potions at present, she needs to go about proving just how useful this particular technique could be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you can apparate,” Caelum grumbles, cleaning off his knife before setting it atop the chopping board. “Why- no. Forget it. I am not getting sucked into your deplorable schemes. Go check if the potion actually works so we don’t waste our time on advancing a failure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It works. Harry’s not particularly surprised by it (other than her own willingness to drink a point imbued with a Portus spell that Caelum Lestrange had chosen the location of), though the usual nausea that comes with portkey travel is an unwelcomed expectation. Trudging back inside the house, Harry has a singular moment to be thankful that Caelum had set the coordinates at the edge of the wards to Potter Place before she is instead stopping Addy from venturing down the stairs to the basement. The toddler hums for a moment, wiggling about in her grasp before she twists to plant one (thankfully clean) had upon Harry’s leg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha-ree!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Addy. Once Caelum and I are done, I’ll come and have dinner with you, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Addy giggles, clapping her chunky little palms together as Harry sets her back on her feet correctly and, coincidentally, facing away from the basement door. Given she can hear Lily counting down, she’ll hazard a guess that they are playing hide and seek. Harry makes sure to lock the basement door on the way down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that works well,” she announces upon reaching the base of the stairs, finding Caelum already started on the second potion. “It dropped me right outside the wards and, barring the slight inducement of nausea, there wasn’t a problem.” Given portkeys leave most of the population feeling queasy after using them, that’s hardly going to put people off if they’ve managed a potion that can transport someone when consumed instead of at a set time. From the smug smile that is steadily leaking across his face, Caelum is well aware of this too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to patent it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it matter when the only other potioneers capable of shaped imbuing are yourself and Master Snape?” Caelum sneers, though it does little to detract from the greedy flicker to his eyes. “Still, the reassurance that the royalties will come in and continue to fund my cutting-edge research into your little bumpkin technique would be a nice reassurance. Oh, don’t give me that look, Potter,” Caelum grumbles, rolling his eyes skywards before he picks up his knife and lines up his roots for chopping. Harry is utterly unsurprised to see him discard the unpalatable bits at the ends; she’ll have to train him out of that. “Not everyone gets their parents paying for their potions ingredients.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is that, above all other things, that stills Harry’s tongue from lashing out with a retort. The blatant reminder than she has been significantly luckier than her current company in terms of a supportive family is a bit like a slap in the face; Harry chews down on the inner flesh of her cheek, considering Caelum again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want my help with the advanced version, include me in the patent. You’re a good potioneer, but even I can’t imbue a double layer potion with two different spells and I invented the technique.” At least, she can’t do it at this moment it time. Perhaps it is something she’ll be capable of later on in her life but, right now? Harry wouldn’t even know where to start with it all. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a case of imbuing simultaneously, but instead imbuing one while she leaves the other to rest? Regardless, it isn’t something she has to figure out right now, not when she has Caelum dealing with the first layer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Potter.” Looking up at the sudden address, Harry cocks her head to a side, waiting for Caelum to continue. “Do you think your imbued lightning jaw will be enough to get through wards without ripping you to pieces?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty certain,” Harry agrees easily, brain whirling as she quickly reviews all she knows about wards, magical theory and other relevant topics. “In order to apparate through wards, you need to tear a big enough hole and then apparate almost concurrently. It’s near impossible for anyone who isn’t Headmaster Dumbledore.” Or Riddle, not that she’ll state such a thing aloud. “If the potion settles with two imbued spells, then they will be working at the same time and should be able to send a person through a set of wards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence persists between them for a moment, Harry trimming her roots (all of her roots, she shan’t be discarding any bit that is of use) before Caelum gives a low huff. “Don’t try it until your liar of a cousin arrives. The last thing I need is you ripping yourself into pieces and Lord Potter attempting to pin the blame on me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The afternoon passes as a gradual rate. While it’s not difficult to brew the variable base that she and Professor Snape have collaboratively created, ensuring they apply the correct amount of magical power to their imbued spells so that they will act concurrently is another thing entirely. Their first attempt, Harry just about manages to catch before it blows up in their faces, the potions explosion contained within a bubble of her own protective magic as it implodes in on itself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The white-knuckled grip Caelum suddenly has on the table proves that, while he may have started reviewing free-brewing, he’s never actually put the theory into practice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about you imbue the magic and I’ll match the amount you incorporate?” Harry says after another moment of quiet between the two of them, the peace penetrated only by the sound of muffled explosions contained behind a barrier of magic. They both watch as the cauldron begins to glow red hot before, with a loud crack, it disappears entirely. There’s nothing left; of the potion, the cauldron, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> the parts of her workbench that the substance had managed to come into contact with. Where it has all gone, Harry is hesitant to guess. In fact, she’s not sure what would be worse; if it has all disappeared into the void, or if there will be a small piece of journalism tomorrow stating a cauldron and unidentified substance had appeared in the location Caelum had included in the Portus spell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Caelum mutters, still staring at the now empty space with a hard frown on his lips. It does nothing, Harry is irritated to note, to detract from his beauty. “That is a reasonable next step. Don’t fuck up on the lightning jaw, Potter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eyes rolling and most certainly not mentioning the fact she could quite possibly complete this spell in her sleep, Harry turns her attention to retrieving a new cauldron, a smile lingering at the corners of her lips. It’s as close to free-brewing as she can possibly get in the summer holidays where there is no Professor Snape watching over her shoulders like a particularly hungry hawk. Of course, when she gets into Hogwarts, she’s going to have to slip up a few times when free-brewing, she’s going to have to resist catching the potion at the first mishap. Her ability to predict disaster a moment before it occurred had stood out too much as Rigel Black; Harry Potter will have to be a different free brewer altogether.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just make sure your Portus spell is correct and we won’t have any problems.” Firing a ‘smile of innocence’ up at Caelum, Harry ignores his offended huff and turns her attention back to her potions ingredients, tuning out her companions ridiculous habit of grunting in pride whenever he completes a step. She wonders where Caelum came up with the idea for a transportation potion. It cannot have been the World Cup; he hadn’t been there. She’d have noticed for sure as she doubts the Lestranges would have purchased seating anywhere other than the top box. But she doesn’t know Caelum well enough to be able to securely state his reasoning for coming up with that potion. After all, they only meet up to brew, share information about brewing, or, on a  rare occasion, dine out. That one instance of dancing at the ball this summer notwithstanding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>True, there had been that day at Dartmoor, but she doubts what they are trying to concoct between the two of them would ever have a chance of ripping through the ancient blood wards (not without some Lestrange blood to counteract them and Harry could hardly see Caelum agreeing to </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>) but just maybe that is where the idea has spawned from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should test this one,” Harry says, magic kneading into the lightning jaw before she allows the energy to trickle through the air to the potion, pouring in at a steady stream. Beside her, Caelum’s brow glimmers with the faintest layer of sweat from imbueding a third time, his eyebrows puckered and his lips pressing into a hard, fine line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be ridiculous, brat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it. Our wards aren’t designed to rip someone apart, just bounce back someone who doesn’t have permission to apparate or portkey in or out. That and alert my dad. If he asks, I’ll just say it was a potions mishap that went wrong.” After all, James is no potions expert and Harry has far outstripped her father when it comes to this particular art. He’s well aware she’s experimenting and, while trust between them is shaky at the moment, she knows he’ll believe her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you expect me to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Believe in your own brewing prowess? Apologies, Caelum. That was silly of me, I agree.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll drink the potion,” Caelum hisses through clenched teeth, his icy eyes burning as he glares at her through the potion fumes. Impossibly, they don’t detract from the soft shine to his hair. It has Harry smiling as she loads the liquid into several vials, pressing one of them into Caelum’s palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drink up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caelum closes his long fingers around the vial, staring down at the electric blue concoction before he lifts his eyes to stare blackly at her. In response, Harry simply widens her smile, fluttering her lashes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me you’ve never drunk one of your own potions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I have! This is simply more experimental than any of the others I’ve had before. If this injures me in any shape or form, you will have my mother to deal with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chugs the vial before she can continue to tease him any further and then, in a flash of energy quick similar in colour to the lightning jaw, he’s gone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It works. Harry races up the stairs of the basement, pushing open the front door a moment later to find Caelum sprawled out on the front garden. It is as undignified as she has ever seen him, but he is without question no longer on the official property of Potter Place. Meaning their potion has indeed allowed the drinker to travel through the wards without any significant backlash. She doesn’t count the queasy cast to Caelum’s features as a significant issue; most magical transportation results in a sensation of nausea; if she can implement the Portus spell with some kind of stomach soother or something to that effect, then magical transportation will be getting a damn sight better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pushes down the wayward thought that her life would have been significantly easier if they’d developed this potion a year earlier. Now is not the time to linger on regrets and could-have-beens such as those.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Harry settles for sitting upon her stool, half-hunched over the now-clean potions bench with the tray of sandwiches that Lily had charmed down to them. They snack, chewing slowly on the ham and cucumber delicacies as they consider the four little vials sitting on the table in front of them. Two each. Two potions that can get them out of a location that isn’t covered by blood wards, that may get them out of a blood-warded location if they have access to the right blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to patent it after all?” Harry asks between bites, inspecting her fingernails. Not yet long enough to get crumbs beneath, but veering dangerously close to that territory. She’ll trim them once Caelum’s gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the first decade,” Caelum states resolutely, still staring at the vials as if he can’t quite believe they’re there. This’ll be the first potion he’s created, won’t it? Regardless of the fact they’ve used her variable base, the idea of a transportation potion had come from him. “I guess I will have to tag your name onto the thing too, given it cannot be created without two potioneers. As it requires both to be capable of shaped imbueding, it will be too glaringly obvious that I alone haven’t been capable of creating this, leaving only yourself and Master Snape as the other contributor. Of course, I wouldn’t have hesitated to credit Master Snape, so it will look bad if I were to refuse to name you as a contributor. I won’t have my reputation stained by idiots who cannot consider others may use a technique that hasn’t been patented.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a long-winded way of saying you’re going to submit it as a joint patent.” Caelum doesn’t quite hiss, but it is close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brat. Be careful. When I unveil my masterpiece, there will be a significant amount of interest in you again, given you’ve contributed to it. With all the shit that’s happening after that Rigel bastard fucked over the SOW Party, there are those who are looking to pick up the scant few who have shown true talent. Even my mother has been demanding potions from me now.” While it’s sad that Bellatrix Lestrange has only begun to show an interest in what Caelum is up to now that it can benefit her, it is also somewhat worrying. “Of course, it’s not as easy for her to make her demands now that I have moved out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve moved out?” Harry repeats, cocking an eyebrow as she reaches for another sandwich; cheese and pickle this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. It is expected for an heir to spend some time on their own before inheriting the family estate,” Caelum sneers, looking relatively unruffled by the topic he’d opened up for conversation. Though this does explain why he wouldn’t bring her to Dartmoor again. It’s not that he’s phased by the idea of having to sneak her in and out, but that he genuinely doesn’t live there anymore. He’s probably brewing at the Guild now, given she doubts he’d bother to purchase an apartment with a proper potions laboratory when he has access to the most high-tech rooms in Britain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough about that.” Slamming a small wad of papers down on the desk between them, Caelum rises from the stool and looks to the tray of sandwiches one more time. Then, with a surprising amount of brazenness, he scoops a little more than half up and transfigures his handkerchief into a wrapped package in which to carry them in. Turning to her, he tilts his head back and offers up a half-hearted sneer. “There’s the information I said I’d get you there. Do not show it to anyone else. I will be in touch when I have the time to spare for another brewing session with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you need any more homecooked food, just owl,” Harry says sweetly, fluttering her lashes and ignoring the way Caelum scowls that little bit more. He’s a teenager (admittedly, not one for much longer given he’s in his late teens) living on his own; he’s going to be collecting food and saving money wherever he can. She cannot imagine paying for a flat to his tastes while keeping up his usual lifestyle is easy; no wonder he wants the royalties a patent would bring in. Despite his attempts at a hostile attitude, Harry still walks him to the floo, secretly pleased they’ve wrapped up before Archie is due to arrive.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She ends the day with two vials of a new potion to stash in her case, a collection of notes from the Lestrange family regarding their experiences with the Fade that she can pass on to Hermione, and a much-relieved dad who visibly perks up when he learns Caelum Lestrange left earlier than Harry had been expecting. All around, a good day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As that is far from her usual luck, she’s almost dreading the last leg of summer now.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, in my plan, this is our last sighting of Caelum for a while. Of course, his segment ended up being just over 5,000 words. not sure why I would have expected anything else of him. It is very weird indeed to write him again after my 'Had a Time of It' oneshot though.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Years ago, when I first read the Pureblood Pretense and it's sequels, I had a little daydream of Caelum Lestrange finding out Harry's secret and her kidnapping him to keep him quiet. </p><p>Now, having had time to re-read the series, I've ended up writing a sprawling chapter of fanfiction for this epic saga instead. </p><p>Here's hoping I've got some of the character's even close to their actual personalities.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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